The Fob Watch
by esking
Summary: "What's that?" Ianto picked up the item in question. "Oh, um… I don't know." He frowned, genuinely confused. "It's just… I'm not sure. I've had it all my life, but I never really…" he threaded the thin gold chain between his fingers.
1. Chapter 1

**Guests**

**I don't know where this came from. Well, I do, but I can't tell you yet because it would spoil the middle of chapter 2, so I'll tell you then. Since you probably don't know me well yet, I'll keep the a/n to a minimum of weirdness, but forewarn you that there is an annoying entity known only as Mr. You-Know-Who-You-Are who only reads my author's notes, so occasionally I am obligated to write a longer, generally completely wacko one to keep him satisfied. Just a heads up.**

**This story falls at the very end of season one of Torchwood, after Jack's come back to life, and just after "Blink" in Doctor Who. **

**Disclaimer: don't own anything except this here plot. Here goes**

Captain Jack Harkness rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat, coughing until his lungs burned. They hadn't felt the same since Abaddon had tried to suck up all his life force, and his back was still sore. Ianto had suggested a chiropractor, which had elicited the sarcastic response, "Right. 'And was this pain caused by an accident?' 'Well, yes. You see a giant demon came through a rift in time and space and killed me and when I died I fell over and twisted my back.' That'd go over well." In the end, they compromised with Ianto's masseur skills, which had gone over very well indeed, if not entirely effectively in fixing Jack's back.

Jack had climbed the first two steps of the metal staircase when he heard the impossible: a low rhythmic whirring coming from the center of the Hub. Not daring to believe his ears, Jack sprinted across the room, dodging around various bits of equipment, and skidded to a halt before a small, metal and glass jar on the floor, within which floated a humanoid hand which was glowing with a gentle steady pulse.

**oOo**

"But if you hate Torchwood so much, why are we going there?" Martha ducked as a first edition copy of Moby Dick hurled past her head, having been knocked from its rightful shelf by the most recent violent lurch from the TARDIS.

"Because," said the Doctor, impatiently wrestling with a joy-stick, "they've got something dangerous, more dangerous than usual, and knowing Torchwood they'll probably end up ripping another hole in the fabric of the universe. We're going to slap their wrists and take their toys before anyone else gets sucked into an alternate reality."

"Why, has that happened before?"

The Doctor didn't reply. He tapped a few more keys on the control panel, reaching his fingers to their furthest extent, as he was clinging for his life to the joystick some three feet away, and the TARDIS leveled out and filled with the familiar wheezing. When it ceased, the Doctor and Martha stepped out into the watery Cardiff sunshine. The concrete all around them was a damp dark grey, but the sky shone a cloudless pale blue. The Doctor squinted up at it, shading his eyes with one hand.

"Brilliant! I love sunny days!" He pointed to a tall shining silver building standing in the middle of the cement court yard. "And there's the source."

"The building?"

The Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver at the tower and inspected the reading. "It's coming from underground, but…" he frowned and raised an eyebrow in his trademark way, turned and looked at the TARDIS. "Huh. It doesn't appear to exist yet. We've literally been dropped off three hours _before _a rift event. That makes a nice change."

"Rift event?" asked Martha.

"Oh yeah. This entire city is just sitting on top of a huge rift in space and time. The TARDIS charges on the excess energy, it's brilliant really."

The silence was suddenly rent by an ear-splitting screech and they both looked up to see a pterodactyl swooping overhead, shrieking.

"Except for that, of course."

"Myfanwy!" A young man in a dress shirt and black pants came sprinting across the pavement from the direction of the shining building, a gun clenched in one hand. "Damn it, blasted thing!" He raised the gun as he came to a stand still a few feet from the Doctor and Martha, and aimed it at the pterodactyl.

"No!" The Doctor tackled the man, wrestling the gun from his hand. "Oh no you don't."

"I nearly had her!" the man shouted, leaping to his feet. "Give me my gun!"

"You're not killing anything while I'm around." The Doctor folded his arms, looking none the worse for wear for the minor struggle. "So," he said scornfully, casting an appraising eye over the young man, "you're Torchwood."

"Jones," the man replied with equal acridity, "Ianto Jones. And I wasn't going to-"

"Doctor, DUCK!" The Doctor dropped to the pavement just as the pterodactyl dove downwards, straight at Ianto Jones' head and- BANG!

The dinosaur fell to the ground with a sickening thump that made Martha wince. The Doctor straightened, looking furiously around, and stopped as his eyes fell upon a handsome, dark-haired man wearing a long grey coat. He holstered his gun.

"Why did you do that!" The Doctor stormed over to the man, who ignored him.

"Ianto," he said over the Doctor's shoulder, and Martha recognized an American accent, "get Myfanwy back inside. Now."

Ianto's brow furrowed as he looked between the man and the Doctor. "Sir, I-?"

"Just do it."

Ianto shrugged, lifted the pterodactyl gently in his arms, and set off walking towards the silver tower. When he was several feet away, the newcomer turned his gaze to the Doctor.

"Doctor," he said, but that was all he managed before the Doctor cut across him: "Why did you do that! You murdered an innocent creature, you-"

"Doctor!" the man said again. He unstrapped the holster and held the gun in his flat palm. "It's a tranq gun. Myfanwy lives in Torchwood."

Martha suppressed a smile.

**oOo**

The Doctor had a new face. he was scrawny, taller than before, and looked ten years younger. The girl with him was pretty, with smooth chocolate-colored skin and dark round eyes. In every physical aspect she was the exact opposite of Rose Tyler, whose pale skin and yellow-blonde hair had often made her look even younger than her nineteen years. Jack wondered if that had been on purpose. He'd seen the list of the dead at Canary Wharf, seen Rose Tyler's name on the list. He imagined that the Doctor's devastation must be twice as vast as his own, but even he had been horribly shaken. The new one's name was Martha Jones, they'd been informed once inside the Hub. She looked around eagerly, but Jack couldn't help noticing the unshakable expression of utter disgust on the Doctor's new, freckled face, despite Jack's repeated insistences that Torchwood had changed.

After awkward introductions, the Doctor followed Jack up to his office while Martha accompanied Owen back to his medical station, Jack too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice that Owen was not rebuffing Martha in his usual blunt manner, but eagerly answering her questions, positively loquacious.

The Doctor looked appraisingly around Jack's office, his gaze lingering on the wide windows which overlooked the rest of the Hub, still with the same disgust.

"So, I'll uh…guess you're not here for me," said Jack, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The Doctor turned around, eyebrows raised. He had his hands in the pockets of a dark pinstriped suit. It was certainly a drastic change from the understated green sweater and black leather jacket of the old Doctor.

"I'm here for Torchwood."

"I thought you hated Torchwood."

"I do. Although the fact that you're not in a cage is certainly reassuring." Jack dropped his eyes to the desk but gave no other indication he knew what the Doctor was talking about. "There's something that's going to be activated in a couple of hours by a rift event, and you're not supposed to have it."

"We keep all of our alien artifacts locked up tight," said Jack defensively. "Well away from rift spikes."

"This isn't just a spike. Something massive is coming through, because of whatever's here."

"What's here, then?"

"Not sure yet." The Doctor took his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. Jack resisted the urge to tease him about it, knowing he was on thin ice as it was. Without another word, the Doctor bounded out of the office and back down the stairs into the Hub and over to Ianto, who was typing at a computer.

"Let's take a look at these spikes then, shall we?" he said, slipping on a pair of black, square-rimmed spectacles and squinting through them at the screen.

"So far, we can tell they're from the future," said Ianto. "_Way_ farther than we've ever encountered before."

The Doctor turned his critical gaze upon him. "Really? How do you know?"

Ianto pressed his finger to a corner of the screen, on a graph with one solid green line, and a squiggly line which ran up and down, intersecting with the straight one in steep cliffs and valleys, the apices and nadirs of which never fell more than half an inch from the straight line.

"This line here," said Ianto, tracing it, "that's us. The now. All these squiggles are the times from which the rift junk usually comes. _Usually _it's just space, with maybe a couple years on each side, but this last one, the one you detected," he indicated the furthest spike to the right of the screen, which was just a vertical line that went straight up to the top of the graph, "is _way _off. My model can't even comprehend it. And look," he tapped a few keys and the squiggles all shrank, all except the vertical line, "no matter how I change the scale, it just keep going up."

The Doctor, however, wasn't looking at the vertical line. He was staring at Ianto with something that might have resembled awe. "How did you build this model?"

Ianto shrugged modestly. "Simple, really. If you think of our time like a pond, with stuff falling in from above, everything that hits the surface makes ripples, and just like an earthquake, you can triangulate the origin of the ripples, and the height from which it fell by the force of each ripple."

"Ianto, that's…_brilliant_," said the Doctor. "And I don't often say that, because, well," he removed his glasses and dropped them into his inside pocket, "because of me. But that's fantastic. What's your job here?"

"I'm the coffee boy. I make coffee."

"_Coffee boy?_" said the Doctor, outraged. "But you're _brilliant!_ You should be over there helping Toshiko with the sciency-wiency stuff."

Ianto fidgeted. "No, really, I-"

"He does make _excellent _coffee." Jack had appeared behind Ianto and was resting a hand on his shoulder. "Plus he looks great in a suit."

"Indeed. Ianto, have you got hard copies of that screen?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes, over here." Ianto led him over to his perfectly neat, organized desk and opened the second drawer on the right. He handed the Doctor a manila folder. As he made to slide the drawer closed, though, the Doctor stopped him.

"What's that?"

Ianto picked up the item in question. "Oh, um… I don't know." He frowned, genuinely confused. "It's just… I'm not sure. I've had it all my life, but I never really…" he threaded the thin gold chain between his fingers.

The Doctor held out his hand. "May I?"

Ianto handed him the ornate gold fob watch.

**Yup. I went there. All reviews appersheated, expect the next chapter in few days or so. **


	2. Deliberation

**Chapter 2**

**Deliberation**

**Thanks to everyone who's reading this, your support means the world!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything.**

**Apologies, this chapter is significantly shorter. The next one will be longer, so I'll try to post the next one in a shorter increment of time.**

**Special thanks to **chris., Escaped Ninja, The Goddess of Books, PadawannaB, **and **Pelahnar **for reviewing. You get bubbles.**

"Give me a moment, Ianto," said the Doctor distractedly, still staring at the watch. "I just need to…" he hurried off without finishing the sentence, across the Hub to the walkway above the medical center.

Martha's eyes were raised to the ceiling, moving in slow circles, tracking the flight of the winged dinosaur looping lazily about the room, now squawking contentedly. "A pterodactyl," she muttered. "You've got a _pterodactyl _flying around your base."

"She's a pteranodon, actually," said Owen, following her gaze. "We call her Myfanwy."

Martha was about to respond when the Doctor appeared on the walkway overlooking the sunken medical bay.

"Martha." His voice was deceptively calm, but Martha heard the strain, and immediately climbed up the stairs to the catwalk until she stood at his side.

"What is-oh my God." Martha gasped and covered her mouth as she got a better look at the watch in the Doctor's hand, and at the intricate circular designs cut into the metal. "Is that…?"

He nodded gravely.

"Where did you find it?"

The Doctor remained silent, and looking around, Martha realized that all five members of Torchwood were sneaking covert peeks at them out of the corners of their eyes while pretending to work.

"In Ianto's desk," the Doctor breathed, and began walking briskly along the catwalk, through the Hub, down the concrete steps, not stopping until he and Martha were alone by the Weevil cells.

"What do you mean, in Ianto's desk?" Martha asked, still keeping her voice low. One of the Weevils stirred and its face turned toward them, but then it returned to its curled up ball in the corner.

"I mean it's Ianto's watch!" The Doctor held it up, allowing Martha to see a faint golden glow through the hairline crack between the two halves. "And there's definitely someone inside."

"But that's good, isn't it?" said Martha uncertainly. "You're not the last. There's another Time Lord. Or Lady," she added, looking hopeful.

The Doctor shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Martha, there are things I haven't told you about my people and the end of the Time War. When I left…we didn't exactly part on the best of terms, to put it mildly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"And there's Ianto to consider," the Doctor continued as though he hadn't heard. "He's got an entire life here. A job, a family, someone he loves. If we open this, all that goes away. Ianto Jones is as good as dead."

Martha nodded, feeling a hard lump rise in her throat. She remembered all too vividly having to explain as much to Matron Redfern in 1913. The Doctor was right. They couldn't force someone else to go through that.

"But we have to tell him!" Martha persisted. "He can't just live the rest of his life as a lie!"

"Why not?" said the Doctor, his face impossibly grim, the corners of his mouth turning down in that way that made Martha's stomach clench and her vision go grey. "If he did use the watch to escape the Time War, there's a reason. There's a reason he doesn't want his memories back. God knows there's times when I-" he broke off. For a long while, his eyes fixed on the dirty brick of the wall behind Martha, and in them she saw the pain of centuries, the terror of war, the flame of love, and the dousing anguish of loss. "It's not our decision to make. You're right. We have to tell him. At the right time."

"Oh, right," said Martha sarcastically. "Because there's a right time to tell someone his entire life is a lie, and that he's actually a centuries-old alien whose entire race has been wiped out, and on top of that, they have to die. Great."

The Doctor scowled. "Come on."

As they headed back towards the stairs, they heard the scuffing of frantic footsteps and Jack's voice: "Doctor! Doctor!" The captain emerged, panting.

"Jack, there's something we need to talk to you about," said the Doctor, slowly and firmly.

"Not now!" Jack said breathlessly. "The rift's spiked. Whatever the TARDIS detected, it's coming through."

The Doctor and Martha exchanged looks, then followed Jack back up the stairs, both painfully aware that the reprieve was only temporary.

**Sorry it was so short, the next one will definitely be longer. **

**Actually, since I've got some space to kill, I think I'll add in Mr. YKWYA's author's note, because I'm nice like that.**

**I'm currently writing a presentation on carbon dating, which is not as exciting as it sounds. And it doesn't sound very exciting to begin with. It's also not two carbon isotopes going out to ice cream and holding hands. Also, the years are marked as BP, before present, but present is a constant of 1950. So that's cool. I'm teaching myself Teeline shorthand, which basically looks like a bunch of squiggles, which is cool because now no one knows what I'm writing. So ha! Not even Caspian, and she's very good at deciphering my not altogether legible handwriting. She's pretty cool, Caspian is. Introduced me to "White Collar" and neglected to mention that Mark Sheppard is in the first episode. I had to chastise her, after engaging in a small fangirl party. He was kind of lame though, being that he only had like 7 minutes of screen time. However, as he is Mark Sheppard, was still bloody brilliant because, as I mentioned before, he is Mark Sheppard. I see a woman right now, she has blue hair that matches her shirt. And her sunglasses. And her nail polish. I christen her Blue Lady. I admire Blue Lady. Her eye shadow is also blue. So is her backpack. She is just the epitome of color coordination.  
**

**Well, I think that's enough nonsense for now. Live short and suffer. But not really, I love you guys. But not in that way, as I don't really know you. I love the happiness you bring me when you review, how's that? That sounds good, I think. Very good. **

**Until next time (:) peas in a pod. **


	3. Decision

**Chapter Three**

**Decision**

**Hello again! Nice to see you, I'm glad you could make it. Thanks to everyone who's reading this story.**

**Disclaimer: Owning nothing. **

Ianto's computer beeped wildly in time with regular vertical lines flashing onto his graph, identical to the first one. The Doctor skidded to halt in front of it, glasses already in place.

"There's _millions!_" he said, voice climbing in pitch. "Whatever they are, _millions _and_ millions _are coming through! What the-"

"Jack!" Gwen had run up beside them. "I think you ought to see this."

They followed her back to her own station, where a nation-wide BBC broadcast was playing. Harold Saxon, the Prime Minister himself, a slack-jawed, glassy-eyed man who always spoke in a monotone, was saying dully, "Ladies and gentle men of the United Kingdom, do not fear these new arrivals." There was an inserted clip of a floating black sphere about a foot in diameter, sporting a complicated pattern of complicated straight lines all across its surface.

"They are the Toclafane, and have assured us that they wish only to serve us. Yes, they are what we would call aliens. Their home planet was destroyed, and they now seek shelter, and masters to serve. Please welcome them with open hearts so that our two races may live in peace and harmony." The broadcast ended, and the screen filled with static.

"They're everywhere!" said Tosh, typing away at the next computer, on which was visible and map, and several news broadcasts, all showing the same black spheres. "America, France, China, Africa. All over the planet."

"I don't believe this!" said Martha in horror.

"The public will never go for it," Owen agreed, for he had arrived halfway through the broadcast. "Saxon's bonkers if he thinks people will just accept alien invaders."

"But they're not invaders," piped up Ianto. "Saxon said they only wanted to serve us." As one, Torchwood plus the Doctor and Martha gave him a uniform pitying look.

"Ever seen _The Twilight Zone_?" Owen muttered under his breath.

"We should check upstairs." To unanimous vocal consent, everyone trooped back through the rolling door, up the stairs, and out into the courtyard above, at which point an unbelievable sight met their eyes. The black spheres, the Toclafane, were flying about every which way. They floated alongside pedestrians, bearing purses and shopping bags. They bobbed behind cars. They even saw one holding the leash of a dog, with no owner in sight.

"What the…" said Jack.

"No way," said Owen.

The Doctor gaped at the scene before them, squinted down at his watch, then back up at the courtyard. "This can't be right. This never happened. I mean _literally _never happened. I've seen all of time and space, but I've never seen this." Without warning, he ran off across the courtyard to where the blue police box was still parked, with Martha hot on his heels. He flung open the door and raced inside, reaching the console just as Torchwood caught up and jostled through the narrow doors.

"It's…" Tosh muttered, staring around in awe.

"Bigger on the inside," Jack finished for her. "What's up, Doc?"

"I just…need to check something." The Doctor flipped a lever and the room was immediately filled with an earsplitting shriek. Quickly he pushed the lever back down, and the shrieking ceased.

"What the _bloody hell_ was that!" demanded Owen, lowering his hands from his ears. Ianto was staring around, as though in a daze, and blinking rapidly. He didn't seem to have noticed the noise.

"Doctor?" said Martha.

The Doctor ran a gentle hand over the TARDIS' control panel. "I'm sorry, girl. I really don't know what to do. I'm sorry."

"What is it?" asked Jack.

"There's a paradox," the Doctor explained. "She's holding a paradox in place, which is impairing all her other functions."

"Can't you fix it?" asked Martha.

The Doctor shook his head and blew a stream of air out his lips. "Not without another Time Lord. Looks like we're stuck here. I'm sorry."

"_Doctor_," said Martha, widening her eyes meaningfully. Comprehension dawned on his face, and he looked between Ianto and the computer screen, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water.

Finally, he closed it and said, "Perhaps we'd better go back to the Hub."

"Doctor!" cried Jack, chasing after him, for the Doctor was walking briskly away again. "Doctor, that's your apology face, what's going on?"

The Doctor said nothing the entire way back to the Hub. When they were all back downstairs, the Doctor said solemnly, "Ianto, we need to speak with you. Alone."

Bewildered, Ianto followed the Doctor and Martha into Jack's office. The Doctor shut the door and turned to face him. "Ianto, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The bulk of it was explained in five minutes, with occasional interjections from Martha. Ianto listened mutely, the furrow in his brow growing deeper and deeper. With every word the Doctor said, the situation seemed to grow worse. Martha's stomach twisted with horrible guilt. Ianto wore the same face that John Smith had worn. It wasn't fear. It was acceptance. Already, he understood that he was the one who needed to step aside, he was the one who needed to die. He was not the victim here.

"So," he said In a trembling voice when the Doctor had finished, holding the watch in his hand, "What you're saying is…I'm not real."

"Of course you're real," said Martha. She squeezed his shoulder and he looked up at her. "You're a person. You feel, you love. Don't you?" He nodded. "Then you're a real person."

"Nevertheless," said the Doctor, gently as he could, "most of you is a made up character, created by the Time Lord whose body you're in. Ianto, if there was any other way…" he trailed off. "A paradox has taken hold. I need the help of another Time Lord."

There was a quiet knock at the door. Jack was standing outside, looking extremely worried. The Doctor opened the door and let him in. He turned to Ianto. "I'll let you two talk."

"What's going on?" they heard Jack ask as the Doctor closed the door.

**oOo**

The moment the Doctor and Martha returned to the main floor of the Hub, they were bombarded with questions by Tosh, Owen, and Gwen.

"What's happening?"

"What's wrong with Ianto?"

"Sorry, but, _who the hell are you_?" That last from Owen.

"I'm the Doctor," said the Doctor. "We've been introduced. And as for Ianto…" the Doctor took a deep breath, "He's a Time Lord." Which brought on another flurry of outraged questions.

"Doctor!" said Martha sharply. "What he means is-" three pairs of eyes fixated on her "-there's this ancient race called the Time Lords. The Doctor's the last of them, as far as we knew. But Time Lords have this trick where they turn themselves human, and keep their true selves inside a special fob watch. And Ianto has one of those watches."

"So, Ianto Jones," said Gwen, "is a Time Lord."

"Yes," the Doctor said simply.

**oOo**

"I won't let you do this!"

"Jack," said Ianto evenly, his round face devoid of emotion, "I'm a grown-up, I can make my own decisions."

"So you're gonna _decide_ to kill yourself, great," said Jack sarcastically. "Never pegged you for the suicidal type."

"Stop," said Ianto. His voice was soft, and he wouldn't meet Jack's eyes. "I'm doing this. You don't need to make it any harder." He held the watch flat in his palm and pressed his thumb to the clasp.

"No!" Jack grabbed his hand. His callused skin was warm against Ianto's, and Ianto felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Jack, the Doctor needs my help."

"The Doctor's been in way worse fixes than this, and we don't even know what the Toclafane want. They could be harmless, maybe they're really just here to serve." Jack's voice cracked, and the desperation began to bleed through. Desperation because he'd lost so many people he couldn't help, in situations over which he'd had not control. He wasn't letting Ianto die on his watch.

Ianto raised his eyebrows, but kept his gaze fixed on the floor. "Do you really believe that?"

"The Doctor's been fine on his own for hundreds of years!" shouted Jack. "Why should he need you now?"

"I don't know." Ianto extracted his hand from Jack's. "But I guess we'll find out, won't we. Come on, Jack." A single tear dripped down his cheek. "You were always going to watch me die someday. Why not do it for my planet?"

"Please, let's just talk about this," Jack begged, grabbing Ianto's hand once more, this time in both of his own. He held them firm, but his hands were trembling.

"I'm not real," said Ianto. "And I've had long enough. This Time Lord deserves his body back." He gave a watery smile, raised his eyes to Jack. "He'll be smarter than me, I suppose."

Jack returned the smile. "No such person." He reached behind Ianto's head and pulled him into a long, slow kiss. They stood that way for several seconds, holding each other, until finally, Ianto pulled away.

"I love you," he said.

"I know."

Ianto clicked the button and the watch flipped open. Out came a flood of bright glowing light which swirled all around Ianto, blinding Jack. He flung his arm up over his face and squeezed his eyes shut. For what seemed like an eternity, the office was filled with the fiery light, accompanied by what sounded like maniacal laughter. The light dimmed at last, and Ianto was still standing there, exactly the same. He looked down at himself, blinking rapidly.

"Ianto?" said Jack, taking a tentative step forward.

Ianto met his yes, confused and afraid. And then, faster than Jack could follow, his hand whipped down to his holster, and he fired three shots into Jack's forehead.

**Sorry if I totally fudged up the Janto scene. I'm rubbish at writing romance. All reviews appersheated. Eat your waiters and don't forget to tip your vegetables.**

**Okay, I'm only going to say this once. This is not an apology, and you won't catch me apologizing for the road down which I will send them all. I have been told multiple times that I am evil. That's kind of the point of this story. You will no doubt hate me at some point, and flames are fine if you want to get your anger out. All I ask is that you keep reading, because pain makes absolution all the sweeter.**


	4. Abscond

**Chapter 4**

**Abscond **

**Here's another really short one, apologies in advance. Also… Supernatural. Is. Amazing. Ironman is officially a jerk. She got me addicted to Doctor Who and now Supernatural, and it's destroying my life. Ironman, if you're reading this, you're an evil turd. Jerk bitch ass-butt idjit bag of dicks. Now for the story.**

**Disclaimer: Still own nothing**

Drawn by the noise, the Doctor, Martha, Gwen, Tosh and Owen appeared in the doorway. Upon seeing Jack's body on the floor, Gwen dropped to her knees beside him.

"Oh my God, what happened!" cried Martha, horrified.

"Ianto?"

Ianto raised the gun, holding it on Owen. "What are you doing?" Owen said evenly. "Ianto?"

Ianto fired, but Owen dove out of the way, giving Ianto just enough room to push through the door. Martha was on her knees with Gwen.

The Doctor took a step toward Ianto, who was backing away down the catwalk. "Hey, calm down. Put down the gun. Come on. It's alright. I know who you are, you don't have to be afraid." He held out his hand, but Ianto didn't move.

"Doctor, he's dead!" said Martha, fighting back tears. "I'm sorry."

Gwen rested a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright. He'll be alright."

"What do you-?"

With a hoarse gasp, Jack sat bolt upright, gasping and clutching Gwen's arm. "Ianto! Where's Ianto!" Martha screamed and toppled backwards. At the same moment, Ianto sprinted away across the catwalk and down the stairs, and Owen gave chase.

The Doctor squatted urgently down next to Jack. "Tell me what happened."

Jack shook his head. "I don't know. He just…he just opened the watch and then he shot me."

"_Ianto_ shot you?" said Tosh in disbelief.

"Not Ianto," said the Doctor quietly. "The Time Lord who created him." All eyes turned to him. He straightened up and turned away to face the window, shovinghis hands into his pockets.

Martha was still gaping at Jack's living body. "How…How did you…?"  
The Doctor leaned over and squeezed her shoulder. "Martha, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it!" Martha shrieked, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. "He was _dead!_"

"And now he's alive."

"But-how?"

Jack stood up. "I've been meaning to ask you that myself," he said.

The Doctor opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, they heard Owen's voice shouting. "He's taken the phone box! Doctor! Jack! Ianto's in the alien phone box!" In an instant, the Doctor was up and running with Jack and the others hot on his heels, but by the time they reached the courtyard, the police box had vanished.

**Apologies again for the brevity. I needed to stop at the TARDIS vanishing or there wouldn't have been another good place to stop for a long time. So, it's over. I'm sorry. I know your heart is just broken but you have to be strong. **

**All reviews appersheated.**

**So what I neglected to mention was that this entire story stemmed from wanting to write the scene with Ianto and Jack being sad because Ianto knew he needed to open the watch. And from there it grew. Into this.**

**Also, because I love you all so much, I will post the next chapter tomorrow! After I see AVENGERS! Rather excited. Can you tell? 'Cause I am. **


	5. Victorious

**Chapter 5**

**Victorious**

**Thanks to everyone who's reading this, you people make my day. Warning, the first little segment of this chapter will be reiterating the middle of Utopia, but it'll be short.**

**Disclaimer: owning nothing.**

They searched tirelessly for the next 24 hours, even though the Doctor insisted over and over again that with the TARDIS, Ianto could be anywhere in Time and Space. But Jack demanded they continue. He dragged them all across Wales, with Tosh on call on the computer running face and voice recognition scans on street cameras.

Jack, the Doctor and Martha had struck out again in Swansea and were on the M4 just past Bridgend when Jack broached the subject.

"Doctor, I didn't get a chance to ask before. Battle of Canary Wharf…" he kept his eyes fixed on the road. "I saw Rose's name, on the list of the dead. I just…"

"Huh?" the Doctor looked over at him, seeming to have barely heard. "Oh, no, she's fine! Parallel world, safe and sound."

Jack laughed, relieved, and for the first time that day he smiled. "Thank God! So…she's safe?"

"Perfectly safe," said the Doctor. "And Mickey, and her mother, and her alternate reality father."

"That's great!"

In the back, Martha dropped her gaze to her interlocked fingers. _Good old Rose._

"And what about me?" Jack asked, shooting a glance sideways at the Doctor. "Why can't I, you know, die?"

The Doctor was silent for a long moment. "Rose came back to Satellite Five after I sent her home."

"How?"

"She opened the TARDIS. Stared into the very heart of the Time Vortex. Wreaked a little havoc, on both the Daleks and you. She brought you back. Permanently. You're a fact, now. You always have to exist."

"So I'll be like this forever?" asked Jack.

"Yup."

"Terrific." Jack's cell phone rang. "Tell me you found him!"

The Doctor and Martha heard Tosh's faint, tinny voice say, "I've found _something. _Get back here quick as you can! Gwen and Owen are on their way."

**oOo**

The newscast which Tosh showed them was not comforting in the slightest. It was another interview with Prime Minister Saxon about the Toclafane, but the part to which Tosh brought their attention was a shot of Saxon walking through 10 Downing Street's sitting room, which the Doctor knew was just adjacent to the main conference room where he and Rose had faced down the Slitheen. Tosh paused the frame and pointed to a man standing behind Saxon. He was half turned away from the camera, but he was instantly recognizable.

"What's Ianto doing in London?" said Owen.

"What's he doing at _Ten Downing Street?_" said Gwen.

"We need to get inside," said the Doctor.  
"Kids," said Jack grimly. "We're going on a field trip."

**oOo**

The plan was deceptively simple and, as the Doctor put it, extremely dangerous. Time Lord Ianto would recognize any one of them, and they didn't know where he'd be at any given time. First, they needed to get to London, which proved surprisingly easy, and they had little trouble stationing themselves in the abandoned warehouse attached to the skeleton of Torchwood One, at which point, they began planning.

Essentially, their disadvantage reduced them to sneaking in one at a time with their respective fake ID's, and the Doctor and Gwen forcing their way in back, while Martha stayed at the Hub monitoring the security feeds. This had given birth to quite an impressive argument, which gave Jack new respect for the Doctor's not-Rose.

"And Martha," the Doctor had said, as they all stood around the long makeshift table they'd set up in their ramshackle London base, the schematics of 10 Downing Street spread out before them, "I'll need you to stay hear, watching the monitor and keeping us posted on what's going on.

"WHAT!" Martha had shrieked. "You can't just send me away! I don't care if it's dangerous or it's-"

"It's not that it's dangerous," said the Doctor, whose voice by contrast was softer than ever. And it was this, more than anything, which got Martha's attention. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "I need you on the outside. There is every chance one or all of us will be caught-" a quiet rustle passed over the room "-and I have to know I can depend on _you_ to help us."

The argument had gone ferociously back and forth for several more minutes, during which a number of references including Shakespeare, 1913, New-times-fifteen-New-York, and pig people were shouted, and Martha had come very near, Jack was sure, to lifting up the giant table and hurling it at the Doctor. Then the Doctor said, "Martha, the world may in fact end if you don't." That had shut her up. Sort of.

Martha had glared at him for the rest of the briefing, but had finally agreed. Jack had the lurking suspicion that she would do most anything for the Doctor if he asked.

Afterwards, the Doctor pulled Martha aside. "Martha, I need you to listen to me very carefully." He placed a hand on each of her shoulders. "You _can't _come after us. I meant what I said. It'll probably be you rescuing us in the end."

"But if you're trapped," Martha swallowed. The idea was at once laughable and entirely terrifying. "How will I know what to do?"

The Doctor smiled gently. "You'll know. Now," his voice became more clipped, business-like, "in the meantime, don't, under any circumstances, try to contact your family, unless you want Ianto to find them too. And don't draw attention to yourself in public. In fact, stay inside as much as possible. You never know who might be watching. And whatever you do, no matter what happens, _do not use cell phones._"

Martha frowned. "Why not?"

The Doctor sighed. "Haven't you seen 'The Bourne Identity'?"

The Doctor maintained that all they needed was to get Ianto on his own so he could talk to the Time Lord without fear of interruption. He was probably just scared and disoriented after being a human for so long. The only objections, voiced emphatically by the entire Torchwood team, were to the Doctor's forbidding the use of guns.

"You won't need them," was all he would reply.

**oOo**

Gwen and the Doctor entered 10 Downing Street through a rusty maintenance door tucked behind an overflowing dumpster, and emerged into a long hallway with thick maroon carpeting and ugly floral wallpaper. There was not a soul in sight. Tentatively, they began walking down toward the junction at the end, sweeping left and right with their eyes, ready to run or fight should anyone appear.

"Doctor?" Gwen asked after a minute or so of silence. "What exactly are the Toclafane?"

"Nothing," said the Doctor without looking at her. "The Toclafane don't exist."

"What do you mean?"

"They're a fairy tale, like the Bogeyman. Just a story they used to tell us back on- back where I'm from. They were the reckoning. If children were disobedient, or if they interfered in affairs that weren't their own - which was the greatest offense a Time Lord could commit - the Toclafane would come and punish them. But…" he shook his head and gave Gwen a brief smile, for she was staring at him with genuine alarm, "they're just a story."

"So, what are these things Saxon's calling the Toclafane?"

The Doctor shook his head again. "I don't know. But I'm almost certain that whoever Ianto is, he brought them through."

"How, though?" said Gwen. There was a creak from somewhere above them, and both froze, listening hard. After a few seconds of silence, they continued walking.

"I've been thinking about that. The only thing I've been able to think of is that he had a… a timer of some sort. Something connected to the rift, that would open it at the right time. Which means we have a huge problem."

"Why?"

"Because it means the Time Lord wasn't hiding. He was planning this long before he turned himself human. But why?" the Doctor asked, sounding as though he was speaking more to himself than to Gwen. "Why become human at all? And why wait for so long?" Gwen waited, but the Doctor said nothing more.

"Doctor?" she whispered finally as they reached the end of the hallway and turned left into the next. "Does it strike you as odd that this place is _completely deserted_?"

"Yeah," said the Doctor, holding his sonic screwdriver aloft. "Yeah, it does."

The Doctor's earpiece crackled, and he heard Martha's voice say, "Doctor-ou-off-een…can't-ou."

"Martha?" the Doctor tapped his earpiece, waved his sonic screwdriver over it, but the signal was lost. The Doctor raised an eyebrow at Gwen. "Careful."

They continued down the hall to the junction at the end. The next hall was identical, and just as deserted. There was complete and utter silence.

"This doesn't make any sense," said the Doctor, frowning. "Last time I was here, this place was packed. I can't even hear anyone. I don't-" he broke off, staring at the wall. He took a few steps forward until he was only inches away, and held the sonic screwdriver right up to it. The ugly floral wallpaper warped and rippled away from it.

The Doctor stepped back and raked a hand through his hair. "Oh, he is clever, he is a clever Time Lord. Clever, clever."

"What is it?"

"He's got us in a cyberlock. Oh, that's good." He was back to examining the wall. "I haven't seen one this convincing in decades! _Centuries!_"

"But what's a cyberlock?"

"It's a jail cell. _Well_, it's like a jail cell. _Well,_ it is a jail cell, but you don't think it's a jail cell. It projects an image into your mind so you think you're still moving around, but really you've been stationary for hours or even days. I was in one once for a month and a half. Thought I was hiking up Mount Everest. Ah, Tenzing Norgay, he was funny."

"So, go back to the part where we're _in a jail cell!_" said Gwen.

"Ah, yes, well we've been trapped in the same place for about ten minutes. Time seems to move slower inside. I'd say about one fifth the normal rate. What feels like a minute to us is five minutes to the real world. Not particularly powerful, but _very _convincing. Bravo."

As the words left his mouth, the hallway flickered and was replaced with a dark, concrete room, in which stood four people: Tosh, Owen and Jack, all chained to the wall with medieval, metal shackles, and Ianto standing in the center of the room, leering at them.

"Oh, very good, Doctor." He consulted a stop watch. "That only took you…four minutes thirty-two seconds. You're as brilliant as I remember." At these words, everyone turned to stare at the Doctor, who gestured around at them with his head, for his and Gwen's arms, too, were shackled.

"This cell, how'd you build it without the people upstairs catching you?"

"That's the beauty of a time machine," said Ianto, "wouldn't you say? Just go back to before the place was built, invest a little manual labor, a little jiggery pokery perception filter on the door, and you're in business."

"But why?"

"Oh, Doctor," Ianto sighed, "you always asked so many questions. I think it's time you gave some answers. Ask him," he said to the others. "Ask him who I am. Go on." He left the cell and shut the door behind him with a loud _thump!_

"Doctor?" said Jack.

**oOo**

Ianto climbed the stairs up to the Prime Minister's office. When he entered the room, Saxon ordered all its occupants outside. As the last one closed the door, Saxon swallowed. "Everything is arranged, sir."

Ianto nodded slowly. "That's good, Harry. I'm pleased."  
"What happens now?"

"Now? Now we wait. This operation will take time, Harry. But I'm a Time Lord. I've got _lots_ of Time."

**oOo**

"There was one Time Lord who I thought might've…" the Doctor cleared his throat. "I looked for him. I didn't think it was possible."

**oOo**

Saxon fled the room with a sigh of relief, leaving Ianto alone at the great conference table. He smiled a little to himself, for a moment allowing his pride to well up and fill his body with glowing warmth. The Doctor was weak, far weaker than all the legends had made him out to be. He had beaten him easily. _He _was the Time Lord victorious, and soon this stunted little planet would be free of the degenerate vermin that swarmed its surface, and the Earth would be his.

_Theirs_, his mind corrected him. Of course, _theirs. _Ianto stood from his chair, purposeful. He knew what he needed to do.

**Thanks for reading! Doctor, Doctor, I feel like a pair of curtains! Oh, pull yourself together.**


	6. Alliance

**Chapter 6**

**Alliance**

**Yes, so this is the 6th chapter. Thank you to everyone who is following this. You make my day brighter. Speaking of bright days, it was absolutely gorgeous and sunny and warm today and I hope you all appreciated it. I know I did. **

**Disclaimer: Owning nothing.**

**Apologies, this is another freaking short chapter, my people are working on the issue. My people are very competent, and should be respected. **

"What is he doing?" Gwen whispered to the Doctor. She was staring at Jack and Ianto, who were facing each other, both with slack, blank expressions.

"They're back in the cyberlock," said the Doctor. His jaw was tight, as though he was fighting to keep his face expressionless. "God knows what he's doing."

**oOo**

He was back in his office. Through the window, he could see that the Hub was empty. _Knock knock knock knock. _Ianto pulled the door shut behind him.

"Hello, Jack." Oh God, it was that adorable smile Jack could never resist. "I hope there's no hard feelings between us."

"Hard feelings?" Jack scoffed. "You _shot _me in the _head._"

"Yes, but there wasn't any lasting damage, was there? Can't we just…move on?" Ianto settled one hand on Jack's waist and drew him close, so that their noses were almost touching. Jack pushed him away.

"Keep away from me."

"Jack, it's me. It's Ianto." He held out his hands, almost pleading. His forehead wrinkled in that way it always did when he was confused, which happened a surprising amount for someone who knew everything. "I don't understand, what's going on?"

Jack shook his head. "It's not you. You're not real."

Ianto looked down at himself. He dug his hands through his pockets. "Where's the watch? Jack? What's happening?"

The desk was between them now. Ianto stood where he was, looking forlorn and frightened. And then his expression changed, back to the cruel, clever Time Lord. "Ianto's still here, Captain Harkness," he said, all traces of fear gone. He tapped a finger to his temple. "Right in there somewhere. I can bring him back if you want."

"Why?" asked Jack without moving.

Time Lord Ianto shrugged as though it was obvious. "I need you on my side, Jack. If this is what is takes, so be it."

"You can just…bring him back? My Ianto." Jack didn't dare believe it. His hand hovered over his holster.

In response, Time Lord Ianto gave a shiver. His eyes rolled up in his head, and when they returned to Jack, they were the same sweet eyes he had fallen in love with. "Jack?" Ianto looked around. "What happened?"

In less than a second, Jack was on the other side of the desk. He wrapped Ianto in his arms. "I'm sorry, Ianto. I'm so sorry. I never should have let you open that watch. I'm so sorry." Jack wanted the moment to last forever. Ianto pressed against him, alone in the office. It was as close as an immortal could get to Heaven.

"No," Ianto muttered into his shoulder. "You really shouldn't have."

A sharp pain exploded in Jack's stomach. His body went rigid and his eyes opened wide with shock. Ianto extracted himself from the embrace, revealing the hilt of a knife protruding from Jack's shirt front, surrounded by a growing dark stain. Ianto's hand closed around the hilt, and he twisted it slowly.

"Ah!" Jack groaned and dropped to his knees. "_Please…stop."_

"No," said Time Lord Ianto. He twisted the knife further, kneeling over Jack. Jack screamed.

**oOo**

Jack screamed, making everyone jump. His head shot up and smacked against the stone wall. Ianto's face became animated once more. He stroked a hand along Jack's cheek. Jack squirmed away.

"It's too bad," Ianto murmured in Jack's ear. "We could have been great." He spun on his heel and left the cell.

"Jack?" said Gwen gently. "Jack, what happened?"

"Leave him alone, Gwen," said the Doctor.

"So, what now?" asked Owen. "We're stuck in a stinking cell, Ianto's an asshole, and Jack's…we're dead in the water."

"This isn't the end yet," said the Doctor. "We've got one last line of defense."

**oOo**

"Doctor!" Martha pounded her fist on the side of the monitor. All the 10 Downing Street security feeds had gone static, and she could hear nothing on her earpiece. "_Doctor!_" Desperately, she raced out of the Torchwood One warehouse in which they'd made their base, approximately a mile from Downing Street, and out onto the sidewalk. No one noticed her at first, because the Doctor had put a perception filter on the door. The civilians walked by without a care in the world, too distracted by their shiny new Toclafane pets.

"It's rubbish, it is." Martha jumped. Standing beside her, also watching the Toclafane, with an expression of extreme suspicion and distaste, was a red-haired woman a few years older than Martha.

"The _Toclafane,_" the woman clarified in a voice dripping with sarcasm, sketching quotes in the air with her fingers. "I'll buy that they're aliens, sure. But here to serve? I've seen _The Twilight Zone_, and 'To serve man' never means what we want it to, does it? Nah, they're after something else. The question is, what?"

"Sorry, who are you?"

The woman held out her hand. "Donna Noble."

**All review appersheated! ( :) peas in a pod.**


	7. Escape

**Escape**

**Chapter numbers are starting to get wonky. I have decided to cease numbering them. So there. Shh, don't tell anyone. *wink wink*. Not gonna lie, this chapter was exceedingly fun to write. I feel moderately evil. An' don' it feel goooood.**

**Disclaimer: owning nothing.**

The Doctor hated prisons. He hated being constrained. In general, he hated not being in motion. And not being in motion took on a whole new meaning when his arms were completely numb, being that they were locked into rusted, medieval shackles level with his head, and his most reliable ally stood practically comatose, and entirely not in a position to offer much assistance.

The Doctor watched Jack with intense concern. He sagged against his restraints, his chin drooped onto his chest, which rose only a miniscule amount with each shallow breath. He'd been like that since Ianto had left, five hours ago.

"Jack," said the Doctor finally.

Jack's head twitched, but he didn't look up.

"_Jack,_" the Doctor's voice was not harsh, nor was it unfriendly. But it was forceful enough that the Time Agent started, and looked wildly around. His eyes focused on the Doctor with an angry type of fear. The flight instinct which had been so prevalent when he'd first met the Doctor was showing through, more starkly than it had since that night in the hospital. That night with Rose…unbidden, the image of her glowing yellow-blonde hair, glinting in the moonlight which filtered through the barred window, filled his mind. He could perfectly recall her flirtatious smile, the way one side of her mouth rose higher than the other. _Stop it!_ he ordered himself.

"Jack, are you with me?" He hoped the others didn't realize the call to reality was as much for himself as for Jack.

After a moment, Jack nodded tremulously.

"Excellent. Gwen," said the Doctor authoritatively, "take off your left shoe and sock."

This garnered four completely bewildered stares. "_What?_"

"I need you to reach with your foot into my jacket pocket and get my sonic screwdriver," the Doctor explained. "Go on."

Gwen shrugged, and obeyed. The task, however, was much easier said than done. Gwen was wearing low-heeled leather boots which had zippers running along the inside seams, and came up to her mid calf. After several futile attempts, she managed to hook the other boot's somewhat pointed toe onto the top of the zipper and ever-so-slowly pull it down and slip off the boot. The sock-a sheer nylon knee high- proved another challenge. No one said it, but everyone was thinking about the shame which would never leave them if they, the best trained alien combatants on the planet, were defeated by a nylon sock. Gwen managed by dragging her left heel repeatedly against the toe of her right boot until the nylon was bunched up around the ball of her foot, and she could roll it all the way off, thereby freeing her toes to move about, and hopefully grip a sonic screwdriver.

Balancing on her right foot and tensing her arms to keep herself steady, Gwen raised her left leg and slowly moved her foot inside the Doctor's jacket.

"Why do you keep it in the _inside _pocket?" she asked in exasperation after the third failed attempt to get her toes around the screwdriver.

"It's the safest place!" said the Doctor defensively. "So people can't steal it."

"Well, it sure is bloody hard to get to!" Gwen gritted her teeth and dipped her toes delicately into the pocket.

"Ah!" cried the Doctor. A burst of laughter bubbled out of his mouth, and he flinched away from Gwen. "No, stop it! Stop!"

"What!" said Gwen and the others in alarm.

The Doctor took a deep calming breath, straightened his expression. "Sorry. Bit ticklish. Carry on."

After two more goes, Gwen managed to get the screwdriver between her first and second toes, and lower her foot carefully to the ground.

"Good," said the Doctor. "Now gently kick it over to me. _Gently._" He had slipped off his own right sneaker and resultant sock, and picked up the screwdriver with his toes, then proceeded to reorient it with amazing dexterity, so that he could press the button with his big toe. He raised his leg so his foot was level with Gwen's left handcuff. With his tongue clamped between his teeth, he pressed the button.

There was the familiar high-pitched whir, and the lock sparked and sprung open, but the screwdriver dropped to the floor and bounced, skittering to the center of the cell, well away from any of them. Owen let out an admirable collection of choice swear words.

"Toshiko," said the Doctor calmly, "stretch out your foot as far as you can." Tosh complied. She extended her arms until they were held at a bizarre angle above her head and her chin was pressed against her collar bone, and stretched her right leg out in front of her, pushing, reaching. She was about two inches short.

Tosh relaxed with a frustrated sigh and straightened up. The others all tried their best to reach the screwdriver, but each gave up after multiple painfully futile attempts.

"Well," said Owen, "shit." The others murmured their agreement. The situation looked rather hopeless.

"This isn't fair," said the Doctor angrily. "I'm brilliant! I can't be beaten by my own screwdriver."

"Welcome to reality, mate," said Owen.

"Reality is relative," grumbled the Doctor. Then, "Wait a minute! I'm _brilliant!_"

"What!"

Once again concentrating with all his might, the Doctor squinted at the screwdriver, and then down at his shoe, still sitting empty next to his foot. Then with a single precise movement, he kicked it. Like a ball on a pool table, the shoe knocked against the screwdriver and sent it rolling unevenly along the floor until it came to a stop, right beside Jack's foot. There was a quiet moment of relieved laughter, and Jack kicked the screwdriver back over to Gwen. She transferred it from her foot to her free hand.

Holding it to her right wrist, she activated the buzzing blue light, and the shackle cracked open. Instantly, the tense atmosphere dissipated. They were in comfortable waters now, practically home free.

Once freed, the Doctor turned his wrists and rolled his shoulders and neck, groaning, while Gwen released Tosh, Owen, and Jack.

The Doctor pushed the newly sonic-ed door open a crack and peeked out. "Clear." He pushed it open the rest of the way…and found himself face to face with Ianto Jones.

"_Shit_," breathed Owen.

"Why, thank you, Doctor." Ianto plucked the screwdriver from the Doctor's hand and inspected it critically, as a numismatist might a rare coin. "I've been wanting one of these." He spun on his heel and began walking away. "Put them back in their cupboard." Instantly, three Toclafane appeared out of thin air, each brandishing a menacing metal pipe, like the barrel of a gun.

The Doctor felt Jack tense beside him, preparing to fight. "_Don't,_" he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Jack grumbled, but stepped obediently backwards into the cell, however-

"Wait," said Ianto, when Jack and the Doctor were the only ones not fully inside the cell. He walked back over to them, the soles of his dress shoes clacking ominously against the cement floor, and took Jack's hand gently in his. Jack jerked it away, held his arms rigidly at his sides. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were fixed determinedly on the wall over Ianto's shoulder.

This, however, did not deter Ianto in the slightest. He locked his fingers behind Jack's neck and pushed out his lip in a pout. "_Jack,_" he said. "Jack, I'm so lonely, why don't you come upstairs with me?"

"_Go to hell," _Jack spat acidly.

Ianto sighed and removed his hands from around Jack's neck. "No, Jack. That's where _you're _going."

"Go ahead and kill me if it helps you sleep," Jack growled, for the first time meeting Ianto's gaze.

The faintest hint of a smile twisted the corner of Ianto's mouth. "I don't need to." He flicked his glittering grey eyes at the hovering Toclafane. The Doctor was shoved back into the cell, the door slammed closed, and Jack was escorted down the hall.

**Okay, here's an experiment to test the waters. If you get this, say so in your review (even if you don't get it, reviews are still appreciated, but I really want to know how many people know what I'm talking about). Here it is: If Dean and Sam had a brother named Chester, and he won a game, everyone would say, "You win, Chester Winchester!" That is my contribution to the world for today. Also, I made a baby Castiel out of construction paper for my french project.**

**All review appersheated, as always. Have a nice day. **


	8. Lethal Appendages

**Lethal Appendages**

**Hey guess what guys! I'm nice! Relatively speaking. Well, no, I'm not really nice at all. But I have nearly finished typing all of the chapters, so the updates will be coming more rapidly. **

**Warning for minor cameo from another fandom, but if you don't know them, you won't miss any of the story. The cameo is mainly for my dear friend Iron Man, and Chasing. And JIMMY NOVAK! SOB SOB SOB! Okay done. Here's the story.**

They looked like the torture device used on Princess Leia in the original Star Wars movie, Martha decided. Minus the lethal-looking appendages, granted, but it was still infeasible to her how people could so blindly trust these strangers. Had she really been like them only a few months ago? The thought made Martha's stomach churn. If this was how easy it was to take over the human race, what would happen the day the Doctor didn't come? What would happen if they couldn't save him this time?

Martha shivered and pulled her thin jacket tighter about her shoulders. November had swept in with icy winds and chilling rain, leaving a perpetual dampness in the drafty warehouse.

Martha and Donna had agreed to keep their time outside to a minimum, as per the Doctor's warning - with Ianto in Downing Street, they never knew when he might be watching through traffic cameras or private security, but Martha had been cooped up inside for two weeks without a single break, and she desperately needed to stretch her legs.

She had a shopping bag in one hand, filled with food and toiletries bought at the corner grocery a few blocks away, and she walked with a slow, leisurely pace. It was dark and the street was empty of both people and Toclafane. She was safe.

_"Help! Somebody, please!"_

Martha came to a halt as she passed the mouth of an alley, ears pricked for any sound. The voice came again. _"Hello? Is anyone there? I need help."_ Martha took a step inside the alley. It was definitely a child's voice.

"Hello?" Martha called. She squinted into the gloom and began to walk towards the source of the voice, but saw no one. "Are you hurt?"

_"Help me," _came the voice again, a little louder.

"Where are you?"

_"Help!"_

With her eyes narrowed, Martha could just make out a dark shape slumped against the brick wall on her right. Immediately she dropped the shopping bag and sprinted to it, but her hands were met only by the smooth texture of slippery wet plastic. Just a bin bag. She straightened up and squinted around again.

"Where are you?"

"Hello, Martha Jones." Martha's head jerked toward the sound, and she let out a small gasp of shock.

"Ianto?"

"It's nice to see you again," said the voice. It was without a doubt Ianto's, but it sounded tinny and faint, the way a voice emanating from a weak speaker does. "Not that I don't enjoy a good game of hide and seek. But there's been enough of that, don't you think? Why don't you come in? Your friends miss you."

"Let them go!" Martha snarled at the darkness through clenched teeth, staring blindly around for something, anything, to beat to a bloody Time Lord pulp.

"Oh, not going to cooperate, are we?" She heard a clinking and an evil whir. Tiny blue lights appeared before her, floating in midair, and three Toclafane emerged from the darkness, only feet away. They hovered at eye level, drawing steadily closer and closer.

Martha took a step back. Her heel scraped against the brick wall of the alley. Her eyes flicked from one Toclafane to the next, trying to calculate. If she could duck underneath, she could make it out to the main road and hide somewhere. She knew she couldn't go back to the warehouse with Ianto's pets on her trail.

She coiled, ready to run. _Pshing!_ From nowhere, dozens of long, gleaming blades slid out on silver arms, protruding from the Toclafane, and began spinning like egg beaters. The whirring knives edged. Icy terror flooded Martha's body, paralyzing her muscles. She was going to die alone in this alley, killed by an acid trip of George Lucas'. She closed her eyes and screamed.

_BANG!...BANG! BANG!_

All the strength seeped out of Martha's legs, and she sank to the ground, trembling horribly. Near her feet, she saw sparking black shards intermingled with silver blades.

"_What the hell!_"

There were hurried scuffing footsteps, and a figure knelt down in front of her. "Hey," said a soft voice. "Hey, are you okay?"

Martha shook her head. Her breaths came in short ragged gasps, and she could feel her heart pounding a tattoo against her ribcage.

A young man's face framed by chin length brown hair, set with intense hazel eyes that look into Martha's with concern, filled her vision. Even in her terrified state, she had to admit he was kind of cute.

"Hey, man, I don't like this," said a deep voice from behind the young man. The beam of a flashlight illuminated the alleyway, revealing a tall, broad shouldered man with short hair and a brown leather jacket, and three shattered Toclafane shells, inside which sat mutilated, squid-shaped things. "I don't do robots," said the man, "and I _really _don't do aliens. Man, I hate England."

The younger man rolled his eyes. To Martha he said, "Can you stand?"

She nodded tremulously and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Already feeling was beginning to return to her body, even if her heart was still racing. She had the presence of mind to look over the men for guns. The younger one seemed to be unarmed, at least by what she could see in the insufficient lighting, but Leather Jacket had a huge hunting rifle gripped in both hands, pointed at the Toclafane remains.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, gesturing to it.

Leather Jacket looked up from the Toclafane in surprise. "Oh, damsel in distress." For some reason, he shot a suggestive look at the younger man, who, now that they were all standing, was noticeably taller. Martha didn't even reach his shoulder.

"You killed them," said Martha, stronger now. "Where did you get that gun?"

"Sorry, sister." Leather Jacket transferred the gun to a resting position against his shoulder and patted it fondly. And Martha only now realized they both had American accents, but with more of a drawl than Jack's. "This baby's special. One of a kind."

"I need something that can kill them. You have to help me!"

Leather Jacket shook his head. "Outta luck. Like I said, we don't do aliens." He turned to go. "Come on, Sam."

The younger man, Sam, hesitated. "I'm sorry," he said in a low voice. He withdrew an old black hand gun with a long, narrow barrel, and handed it to her.

"Here. It'll kill most living or demonic entities, but there's only one bullet, so…"

"Sam!"

Sam smiled apologetically as Martha accepted the gun, and walked off into the shadows after Leather Jacket. Martha looked down at the weapon in her hand. It wouldn't do much good to only be able to kill one Toclafane, when there were millions zooming around the city. But one Time Lord…

**oOo**

Donna listened intently to Martha's story when she finally returned to the warehouse. After she had finished, Donna picked up the gun gingerly with her thumb and forefinger. She shook her head.

"We can't kill him."

"He tried to kill me!" cried Martha furiously. "He's got the Doctor! He's got everyone! Anyone who could possibly help us is locked up in Ten Downing Street. That gun is all we have."

Donna did not look convinced. She set the gun back down on the table, eyeing it distastefully. "The Doctor wouldn't want us to kill."

"The Doctor wouldn't want us to let the entire planet be destroyed!" shouted Martha.

"I don't think we should kill him," said Donna firmly. "We don't even know what they're up to. We should find another way."

**So for you people who aren't Superwhovians, the two guys in the alley were Sam and Dean Winchester (or as I prefer to say it, Deeeeeeeeeeeeeean Wiiiiiiiiinchester), from the CW show "Supernatural". They are demon hunters from Kansas, who drive around in a black Chevy Impala. Don't ask me how they got to London. And for people who do watch Supernatural, I want to make very clear that the gun was _NOT _the Colt. Ironman thought it was and nearly murdered me with a plastic spoon. **

**They probably won't show up again, but if you want them to, drop a review or a PM and I'll see what I can do. I do in fact have an incidental one shot written for Castiel, so let me know if that has any appeal. It involves someone humming "Stairway to Heaven." And Destiel. *wink wink***


	9. Alice

**Alice**

_Her voice was breathless, but flushed with unrequited joy. "Daddy! The baby's coming!" Jack was up and running even before he canceled the call._

_"Just where do you think you're going?" Lucy the weapons expert folded her arms, having placed herself very inconveniently between Jack and the door._

_"I have to go!" said Jack impatiently. He tried to brush past her, but Lucy was big and muscular - an ex-soldier - and rebuffed him with ease._

_"You're not cleared to leave without proper permission and an escort."_

_"Lucy, I don't have time, _please. Get out of the way."

_"No chance."_

_Jack glared at Lucy, and Lucy glared at Jack. Every second he let slip by was making him later and later. He wouldn't get there in time. Fine. He knew he would catch hell for it later, but Yvonne Hartman herself could come and starve him in a cell for a month for all he cared. He was going to be with his daughter, and no force on Earth or the rest of the damn universe was going to stop him._

_Jack raised his gun and leveled it at Lucy's head. "I'm going," he said in a low voice._

_"You're dead, Harkness," Lucy spat as Jack slipped by her and out the rolling silver door. _

_"Yeah, good luck with that," Jack retorted just before the door rolled closed._

_St. James Hospital was a good 45 minutes outside downtown Cardiff, and each mile crept by at an agonizingly slow pace, no matter how far over the speed limit Jack drove. _

_Alice's stepfather, Arthur, met him in the waiting room. Neither Alice nor Maggie had ever told him the truth about Jack. As far as Arthur knew, he was a family friend who had grown up only a few years older than Alice. As such, he greeted Jack warmly and led him down the hall to the maternity ward. Jack noticed that, like him, Arthur had slight jitters._

_When they reached Alice's room, she was propped up on several fluffy pillows, holding a tiny squirming bundle in her arms. She looked up and smiled when Jack entered, and even Maggie's now wrinkled, but still beautiful, face bore far less than its usual animosity._

_"We'll be outside." Jack nodded his thanks as Maggie took her husband's hand and went out into the hall, and shut the door. _

_"He's got your eyes," Alice said. She shifted the bundle so Jack, who now stood at her shoulder, could see the baby's pink, wrinkly face. His vision seemed to tunnel. It was the most beautiful face he'd ever seen. Never did he think he'd felt that same level of unequivocal love as he did for this tiny little boy. Except, of course, for the woman holding him._

_Alice held the bundle out to him, and Jack took it gently in his arms, feeling a lump rise in his throat as he did so. His grandson was impossibly light, as though he was barely there at all. And yet he loved tit more than anything else in the universe. Was it healthy to have your heart beat so fast, so jubilantly? Surely this wasn't normal._

_"What's his name?" he managed after a long moment._

_"Steven," said Alice. "Steven Andrew Carter."_

_"Hello, there, Steven Carter. Welcome to Earth." A tiny pink hand reached up out of the blanket. Jack let it close around his pinky. His grip was surprisingly firm._

_"He's strong," Jack remarked._

_"Like his granddad."_

_Jack laughed appreciatively and handed the baby back to his daughter. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, and really looked at her properly for the first time since arriving. _

_Deep purple shadows underscored her eyes, a light sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, but still her face seemed to glow with a radiant glee the likes of which Jack had never seen before. He'd never seen his baby girl so happy._

_He sniffed a little and frowned as he caught the scent of smoke. "Do you smell that?"_

_Alice drew in a deep breath through her nose, looked down, and screamed. Bright orange flames licked her arms, and the blanket they held. She screamed again._

_Jack leapt up and frantically tried to smother the fire with his coat, but it only grew, brighter and hotter, engulfing the entire bed. Jack dragged Alice, still screaming, off of it and to the cold linoleum floor, unaware of the scorches to his own skin. He couldn't see hear anymore, only hear her and Steven's screams. He ran to the door but it was locked. Jack pounded against it with all his might. _

_"HELP!" he bellowed desperately. "**HELP!**" The flames now filled the entire room._

"Oh dear, now that's a shame."

Jack's eyes snapped open. His chest was heaving, and his heart pounded painfully against his ribcage. He lay on his back on a hard concrete floor, with his arms and legs stretched forcefully away from his body at distinctly less than comfortable angles. And above him, leaning over him with an expression of nauseating false concern, was Ianto.

As the realization washed over him, Jack made to get up, to grab that horrible, beautiful face, and rip it off, only to find that his arms and legs were chained to the floor. Jack strained against them as hard as he could, ignoring his muscles' protests, driven by sheer bloodlust.

Ianto raised his eyebrows, looking unimpressed. "I'll leave you to that then." He turned and vanished from Jack's sight, and a moment later he heard a door slam shut and lock. Jack's vision went dark once more.

_Her voice was breathless, but flushed with unrequited joy. "Daddy! The baby's coming!"_


	10. Plan B

**Plan B**

**As always, thanks for reading. You guys are great. And I still own nothing. Sorry if 10 starts sounding like 11. I just watched Flesh and Stone.**

**Warning: Doctor emotional whump. I'm tired of torturing Jack for now.**

"Now what?" said Owen acerbically, folding his arms and glaring at the Doctor.

"Plan B!" replied the Doctor with his regular exuberance. "_Well, _plan C, really."  
"And what is that?" asked Owen. "'Cause from where I'm sitting, we're trapped in a concrete cell with no Jack, no tools, and no weapons."

"Never needed any of those before." The Doctor crouched down in front of the heavy metal door, examining the seams. "Ianto, I'm afraid, has made one very crucial mistake. It will be his downfall, I assure you, for although he is clever, he is very, very foolish and has made a most grievous mistake."

"What mistake?"

"He has constructed an elaborate trap, a genius trap one might say, but there is one flaw, one glaring flaw, because if there is one thing in the universe you should never, ever put in a trap if you value your continued existence. If you have any intention of seeing tomorrow with the same eyes you have today, there is one thing you _really _should _not __**ever**_ put in a trap."

"What?" asked Owen skeptically.

The Doctor paused dramatically. "_Me._"

Owen scoffed.

"Oi!" said the Doctor. "I've been in worse. I've been in much worse." He stood up and faced them, looking each of them in the eyes. "And I promise you, I'll get you all out of here. Understood?"

Tosh and Gwen nodded, looking reassured, and Owen folded his arms, but refrained from making another pejorative comment.

"Well, then. That's settled. Now, assets. What've we got?" He began pacing rapidly back and fourth. "We've got four people. Eight hands, eight feet, five hearts, six kidneys, two pairs of earrings, two belts, and of course-" he broke off and froze, head cocked to one side.

"Wh-" Gwen began.

"_Shh!_" The Doctor pressed a finger to his lips. "Do you hear that?" he whispered.

And now that they listened, the three remaining Torchwood members could hear a soft constant _hissss._

"Cover your mouths and noses!" the Doctor cried, clapping his sleeve to his face. In a muffled voice he added, "Take shallow breaths!"

Gwen pressed her arm over her mouth immediately, eyes wide and frantic, but Tosh only stared at the floor, and Owen scowled.

"What are you doing?" said the Doctor. "Cover your faces!"

"What's the point?" Owen snapped. "We've already breathed it in. Face it, we're screwed."

Tosh slid down into a slumped sitting position against the wall. "Owen's right," she said mournfully. "We're going to die in here. It's over, Doctor."

The Doctor gaped at the pair of them, shot a look at Gwen. "_What!_ This isn't you. What are you doing?" Tentatively, he lowered his hand and took an experimental sniff. "Oh no," he muttered. "Oh no, I am so, so sorry. Oh, he didn't." He squinted up at the tiny vents set into the wall just below the ceiling.

"What is it, Doctor?" Gwen asked, hand still over her mouth.

"It's Deterrent Gas. Standard for the Shadow Proclamation - space police- used to transfer and detain particularly manic or energetic prisoners.

"But what does it _do_?"

"It cancels out endorphins. Basically, it's a chemical depressant, but a thousand times worse than anything you've got on Earth. Prisoners become so melancholy they just wallow in self pity, making them much easier to move. We're doomed." Silence met these words. The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, there's really nothing I can do." More silence. Then he smacked himself hard on the forehead with his palm.

"What am I _saying!_ The gas! We have to fight the gas. You guys are strong. You're intelligent, independent, brave. You've faced the impossible before, you can do it again." He took Tosh's hands and pulled her to her feet. "Come on! _Smile. _You're beautiful and smart and loved."  
"By who?" Tosh mumbled.

"By him!" The Doctor pointed at Owen. "Come on, don't tell me you haven't noticed. Be happy! Come on, you two. Hold hands, be cute and intimate. Hold onto something happy. Gwen!" He spun around. "What was the best day of your life?"

"Umm," said Gwen, taken aback. She dropped her hand to her side and shook her head. "Nothing. I'm sorry I can't think of anything."

"No, come on! Think!" cried the Doctor.

With a flicker of fear at his wild expression, Gwen answered, "Our weekend in London, last summer."

"Good! Now go there. Relive every minute of it. Recreate every single detail in your mind. All of you. Go to your happy place and _stay there. _Don't come out for anything. Do you hear me, anything. The gas can't get you if you're not here. Stay inside your mind until I come up with a plan." He dropped into a crisscross position, propped his chin on his fist, and stared intensely at the floor.

_Two days later_

_"Aw," Gwen groaned as she closed the door to their flat behind her and dragged her suitcase through the front hall. "I don't want to go back to work tomorrow."_

_"Well," said Rhys. He pulled her to him and she felt his hand on her backside. "It's not tomorrow yet."_

Gwen's eyes snapped open. The Doctor did not seem to have moved from his cross-legged seat.

"Doctor, have you got a plan yet?" He didn't move. "Doctor!"

_"I've just remembered!" he said, grinning ear to ear. Her beautiful face turned toward him, positively radiant in the soft golden light of the TARDIS. "I can dance!"_

_And did they dance. They spun and spun and all time melted together and became one moment, one shining, glorious moment with his hands in hers and her hands in his and everything was perfect and-_

"Doctor!"

He jumped and twisted around. "Have you got a plan yet, Doctor?" asked Gwen.

"I'm-I'm almost there." He closed his eyes again.

_Cold salty wind swept through his hair, making it stand even more on end. Close by he could hear the slow _swoosh…boom! Swoosh…boom! _of waves crashing against the shore. The ground beneath his feet was soft and gave way when he took a step. The Doctor opened his eyes. No. Not here._

_The grey beach stretched, flat and empty. All around rose low, craggy cliffs. Out behind him, if he turned he could see the infinite iron-colored sea, completely smooth, calm as a duck pond._

_The Doctor had long since accepted that his brain was smarter than he was. Sometimes it did things he didn't understand, but most of the time it would explain itself shortly afterward. Usually they got on quite well, but on occasions like these…on this occasion, the Doctor wanted nothing more than to kick his mind ferociously in the backside and scream at it until his throat bled. He wanted to scream 'why'._

_Why? Why of all places would his mind bring him here? His memory lane was long and crooked, dotted with pot holes, lined with corpses. But the path to Rose ran straight and true. He wouldn't forget her for a long, long while._

_But of course, the memory wasn't complete until she stood before him herself in all her lovely splendor. Strands of golden hair blew across her face, fluttering gently. She stood as she always did with her hip cocked and her weight resting on her right leg. The Doctor felt a stone the size of a bowling ball drop into his stomach. He couldn't do this. Not again._

_"Took you long enough." The Doctor blinked in surprise. Her voice was strong, almost sassy, not at all the tearful tremble it had been the last time he'd been here. This was not a memory._

_Rose Tyler folded her arms. "I've been waitin'."_

_"I'm sorry," said the Doctor, not sure what else to say._

_"So," sighed Rose. "What's the problem?"_

_"I-what?"_

_Rose rolled her eyes. "God, you're thick for a genius. I'm not Rose Tyler, numbskull."_

_"Then…who are you?"_

_"Your friend of course. So tell me what's wrong so I can help. Your mind wouldn't have called me here if you didn't need me. And we're not going to get anywhere if you keep gaping like a fish. Come on then, speak up."_

_The Doctor closed his mouth, not having realized how far his jaw had dropped. "Why do you look like Rose?"_

_"I'm your friend," said Not Rose impatiently. "I can read your mind of course. I took the shape of the person you wanted to talk to most, in the hope that you would actually _listen_ to me this time. Obviously it was in vain."_

"What?"

_"No, no more 'what.' I ask the questions now. I don't have unlimited time. I have work to do, you know. Got to prepare. Got to repair. So, how's about you tell me what's going on." She was definitely not Rose. That much was painfully clear. But still she was the same, and the Doctor found himself paralyzed, staring drinking in every detail of her, like a desert wanderer come upon a sparkling oasis._

_Swoosh…boom!_

_"The tide's coming in, Doctor," said Not Rose. "I can help you, but you have to tell me where you are. We only have until the waves reach us."_

_The Doctor looked toward the water and received a shock. The edge was only ten meters away, and drawing visibly nearer with each wave._

_"Alright, fine. We're trapped in a cell beneath Ten Downing Street, and the air is full of Deterrent Gas. And I lost my sonic screwdriver," he added._

_Not Rose nodded, mulling this over. "Ventilation," she suggested._

_"Sixteen centimeters across. No one's crawling through that._

_"Fine. Food delivery."_

_"Teleport."_

_Not Rose's brow wrinkled, exactly the way the real Rose's did when she was puzzled. The waves were only two meters away. The lump in the Doctor's stomach seemed to doubled in size. Regardless of whether this Rose was real or not, in only minutes, e was going to lose her again._

_Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. "I know. What about the pretty brown one? Where is she?"_

_"Pretty brown _what?_" said the Doctor, bewildered._

_Not-Rose rolled her eyes. "You know. The new Rose."_

_"_Martha?"_ said the Doctor. "She is __**not **__the new Rose. Rose will never be replaced, especially not by Martha. not by anyone. Don't you-"_

_But Not Rose interrupted, "Yes, her, that's the one. Where's Martha?"_

_"I sent her away," said the Doctor grimly. "She's safe. I hope."_

_"There's your answer," said Not Rose. "She'll come. Martha will save you."_

_"How do you know?"_

_A wave lapped at the sand inches from their feet. "They always come." The next wave washed all the way over her battered sneakers, and immediately she began to fade, until the Doctor could see the craggy cliffs through her face._

_"Wait," he begged. "Who are you?"_

_"You know me," sighed Not Rose. "You live in me."_

_"I most certainly do not!" cried the Doctor._

_"I make that noise," Not Rose tried. "I go-" she opened her mouth wide and out came an inhuman, grinding wailing, exactly like-_

_"You're the _TARDIS?"

_"I'm your friend," said Not Rose. "See you soon, Doctor."_

_And even with the small seed of hope he'd been given, the Doctor felt his hearts once more shredding themselves into tiny bits, because for the second time, he was watching Rose Tyler disappear from his sight forever._

"Doctor?" He was back in the tiny, cramped cell. He could still smell the damp salty air, still feel the sting of the mist on his face.

"We wait," he said.

**All reviews appersheated.**


	11. A Friendly Voice

**A Friendly Voice**

Wilfred Mott knew he was not a genius by any standards, but he liked to think that he at least had common sense. He liked to think that he didn't blindly trust the government, didn't believe every bit of bollocks they dumped on the public. It was for this reason that he refused point blank to buy a Toclafane, or to even accept one when they were given out free.

His strategy of stubborn, point blank refusal had held out against Sylvia's equally stubborn insistences for exactly 21.5 days, which was a record.

On a Tuesday afternoon a month after the invasion - for Wilfred knew deep in his gut that's what it was - he had come home to find a floating, shocking pink sphere in his kitchen, floating over a steaming kettle on the stove.

Wilfred had let out a cry of alarm and seized a chair, which he intended to raise above his head and smash the intruder to smithereens. Unfortunately…

"Dad!" Sylvia had entered the room, and she explained how Suzette had gotten an extra by accident, and offered it to them for only 50 quid.

"I am not havin' that thing in my house, Sylvia!" Wilfred shouted, jabbing his finger at the floor. "I don't trust it, and I don't trust the government, and it's not _makin' my bloody tea!_"

"Dad, this is ridiculous!" Sylvia shouted back. "There is no conspiracy! It's just like an iPod. They're completely harmless, an' I paid good money for it, and this is _my house!_"

"I'm tellin' you that thing is dangerous!"

"An' I'm tellin' you it's NOT!"

Wilfred knew better than anyone the futility of arguing with Sylvia when she was in a temper, and he also knew that his best argument was the one he had to keep secret. Donna had told him a few weeks ago that she was working with someone else, against the Toclafane. Donna was rather cryptic, but Wilfred gleaned that this other person knew a lot more about the aliens than anyone else did.

He should really call Donna, Wilfred decided suddenly. He needed to talk to someone level-headed. From the pocket of his puffy old parka he withdrew a fat cell phone with a tiny screen. Donna had programmed her number into the stupid thing when she and Sylvia had forced it on him, but he didn't know how to get to the contacts screen, so he painstakingly tapped in the number he'd learned by heart and held the phone to his ear.

The irritating beeping resounded from the tinny speaker as Wilfred waited for the call to go through, but when it finally did, all he got was Donna's bored voice saying, "Hi, this is Donna Noble. I can't get to my mobile right now, so leave me a message and I'll get back to you when I can. Thanks, bye." This was followed by a cool female voice instructing him in how to leave a message, but Wilfred just hung up and dropped the phone back into his pocket.

He shivered. The night air seemed to have suddenly dropped several degrees, and the light breeze had become a biting wind. Wilfred decided he would go back inside and make himself a thermos of tea, and them come up to his telescope for a while.

When he got inside, the kitchen was magnificently warm. Their brand new Toclafane hovered attentively over a simmering pot of what smelled like bean stew. Delicious bean stew.

"Ah, excellent," Wilfred said, patting the top of the sphere. "Thank you, it smells fantastic." He took a seat next to Sylvia at the kitchen table and waited to be served.

**oOo**

Donna escaped out the metal back door with the peeling paint after Martha had (grudgingly) agreed, for the time being, not to use the gun. Donna hated guns. She hated death. She remembered the Doctor's face as he watched the water rush down the hole, drowning the spider alien's children. Was Martha capable of that?

She felt sick. Her stomach squirmed and sweat beaded along her palms. The sounds of London echoed all around her, car horns, drunken laughter, the rattle underground. She let herself calm down and regain composure.  
She needed to talk to someone. Someone other than Martha. Someone smart and level-headed. She pushed her hands into her pockets, before remembering that she'd lost her mobile the day before the Toclafane arrived. Instead, she started off down the street towards the red telephone box on the corner. She inserted the last of her change into the slot and dialed her gramps' number.

The line beeped four times again, and then four times again, and then a voice said, "Hello?"

"Gramps?"

"Donna!" The voice was like a balm to Donna's frayed nerves. Instantaneously it brought to mind a dozen warm, starry nights spent lying on his worn old blanket, staring up at the sky. His scratchy familiar voice pointed out different constellations and planets, and the entire world was alright.

"Hi, Gramps," said Donna wearily.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? You sound awful."

"I'm just tired," sighed Donna. She rubbed her palm against her forehead. "Just wanted to talk."

"Well, you should get a Toclafane if you're tired," Wilfred suggested enthusiastically. "They do everything. And you can take some time off to relax."

"Yeah," said Donna. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I'll go get one first thing in the morning. Thanks, Gramps." She hung the phone back on the receiver and began the short walk back to the warehouse, feeling much more relaxed. Gramps was right, she was working too hard. She had no idea why she hadn't considered getting a Toclafane until now.

**oOo**

"Hey, Martha," said Donna when she reentered the warehouse. "Why don't we buy a Toclafane? It would make all this research so much easier."

Martha gaped at her. "_What?_ What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," said Donna, taken aback by Martha's outraged reaction. "I just think it's a good idea."

"Okay…" Donna could tell Martha was fighting to keep her voice calm. She pressed her palms flat against each other like she was praying. "Okay. Think carefully. Did you talk to anyone before coming here? Anyone at all?"

"Just my granddad," said Donna, not understanding in the slightest where Martha was going with this.

"Where did you see him?"

"I didn't. I called him from the payphone on the corner."

"The phone." Martha grabbed her own cell phone from the mess on the table and held it up to her eyes. "Don't use the phones," she murmured. She flipped it open and held it to her ear.

"Martha?" said Donna nervously.

When Martha looked back up at Donna, her eyes were glazed, unable to focus. She smiled faintly. "We should buy a Toclafane, don't you think?"

Donna was about to agree vehemently, but something stopped her. A tiny voice at the back of her mind, rather like the Doctor's voice. _Fight it Donna. Don't let it control you. _She blinked.

"No!" How could she have let this happen! She didn't know what had happened, but she was suddenly overwhelmed with a powerful feeling of self disgust. She'd been wanting to buy a Toclafane! The creatures they were fighting! The ones who had attacked Martha and nearly killed her!

Martha jumped. "What?"

"Toclafane!" cried Donna. "Bad! Bad Toclafane. Toclafane bad! What are we thinking, how is he doing this?"

Martha's eyes drifted to the phone in her hand. She placed it on the table, as far away from herself as possible.

"Don't use the phones."

**You'll be glad to know that this is the last of the disconnected short chapters. Finally the actual story is beginning. **


	12. Escape Round 2

**Escape- Round 2**

Owen lay flat on his back on the concrete floor, arms and legs splayed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He had recently discovered a new talent for story telling, or rather story living. At the moment, he was sprinting through a hail of bullets behind Timothy Dalton, laughing wildly.

Together the dashing spies skidded to a halt behind an over-turned car to take shelter while reloading their guns.

"We'll never get past all six guards," said Bond, not even short of breath. "We'll have to go round back." He looked critically at Owen. "All or nothing, Harper."

Owen nodded.

_Clank! Thump-clank!_

"Everyone, wake up! Hey!" There was a sharp jabbing sensation in his side and Owen's vision was filled with dull grey. He became aware that he was lying on his back, and, upon realizing this, sat up. His stiff muscles cramped in protest and he groaned.

"Wha's goin' on?" he asked blearily. The Doctor, who stood above him, pressed a finger to his lips and nodded to the cell door. It swung inward.

It took Owen a full second to register the face of the man who now stood before them. He was unhealthily this. His cheeks were unshaven and deep purple shadows were sunk under his eyes. It was Harold Saxon.

"Come with me, quickly!" he said with more emotion than they'd ever heard from him.

"What are you doing?" said the Doctor suspiciously.

"Saving the planet," said Saxon. "Jones is a mad man, and from what I've heard, you people are the only ones who can stop him." He held something out to the Doctor, a thin silver tube. His sonic screwdriver. "I've cut the security, but it'll boot back up in five minutes. You have to go now."

The Doctor accepted it and tucked it in his inside pocket. To Saxon, he said, "If Ianto realizes you helped us, he'll kill you."

Saxon laughed grimly. "What more can that man do to me?"

The Doctor nodded, then motioned to the others to follow him. "Allons-y," he said, with nothing even remotely resembling any of his old fervor.

**oOo**

As Saxon had promised, they encountered no security while they sneaked through the labyrinthine tunnels, but that did not lessen the tension, which remained with them until they had gotten a good three streets away from Downing Street.

It felt wonderfully liberating to have their lungs full of fresh, clean air flushing out the last traces of the Deterrent Gas. Already the Doctor felt lighter, more confident. He was free, and he had his screwdriver. Two points for the Doctor.

"Where is everyone?" asked Tosh, looking around. She had become shockingly thin over the elapsed months, but now as the Doctor saw her through clear, decidedly more optimistic eyes, he could tell she was vivified by their turn of good fortune, and by the release from their depressing environment…and straight into another one. The four of them had been so engrossed in escaping that they had not noticed until now that the streets were completely deserted, devoid of both people and Toclafane.

Without a word, the Doctor sprinted off down the street, noticing with significant distress that his legs were in much poorer shape for the months he'd spent almost entirely stationary. Still, he did not stop until he reached the Torchwood 1 warehouse, and didn't wait for the others, panting and sweating, to catch up with him before bursting inside.

"Martha? Martha, where are you?" Only silence met his words.

Owen reached him first, followed at a distance by Tosh and Gwen, both of whom were red in the face. They held back from the Doctor, who stood in the middle of the room, turning on the spot. Owen moved off to the side, to the table where, months ago, they had sat planning their infiltration of 10 Downing Street. It was empty now of anything but dust. Owen dragged his finger across the surface and it came away covered in grey.

"No one's been here in months," he said softly. "Martha's not here." This was quickly confirmed, but the Doctor refused to concede defeat until he had personally checked every single square inch of the building. He raked a hand through his wilting hair.

"She wouldn't have just _gone_, not without leaving some sort of message."

"Maybe she was taken by surprised, maybe she didn't have time," suggested Gwen. The silence stretched between them as they contemplated such a situation.

"Hey, it looks like lots of people are missing," said Tosh hopefully. "Maybe they're all in the same place."

"Well," said the Doctor, "let's find them then."  
Back on the street, all was utter silence save the occasional cawing of a crow, or the scratch of a rat scurrying into a gutter. Their own voices, when one of the four posed a question or commented, sounded overly loud and echoic.

"I am _really _not liking this," said Owen.

"Oi!" came a shout form somewhere ahead. Four figures in black combat attire and carrying automatic weapons leapt into the middle of the street. "Get your hands where I can see 'em and _don't move!_"

The Doctor, Owen, Gwen and Tosh all raised their hands above their heads, completely bewildered but in no mood to get shot.

"Hey! Hey!" cried the Doctor. "Don't shoot! We come in peace."

They were facing four people, a woman, two men, and a slim, fair haired boy who couldn't have been older than 16. He stood a little behind the others, holding a plastic contraption which, after a moment of observation, the Doctor realized was a Nintendo DS. The boy's dark brown eyes watched it intently, as though he hadn't noticed the newcomers at all. They approached the Doctor and company cautiously, guns still aimed and ready.

"Check them," the woman ordered. The two men nodded and proceeded to do thorough pat downs of the Torchwood agents and the Doctor, coming up with nothing but-

"Hey, that's mine!" cried the Doctor as one of the men handed the woman his sonic screwdriver.

"Is it a weapon?" she asked, inspecting it.

"It's a _screwdriver_." The woman raised her eyebrows at the Doctor and pocketed it. The Doctor scowled, but didn't argue. She was, after all, the one with the gun.

"How did you get here?" she demanded.

"Um, sorry," said the Doctor, "could you lower your gun?"

"Not until you tell me who you are, and how the _hell_ are you still alive?"

"Well," said the Doctor, more than a little puzzled, "I'm the Doctor. This is Owen, Gwen and Toshiko…"

"What do you mean, still alive?" asked Gwen.

With the air of one speaking to someone very slow, the woman clarified, "How have you survived all the massacres?"

"_Massacres?_" repeated the Doctor. "What massacres?"

The woman exchanged a bemused glance with the three men. To the Doctor she said, "Blimey, mate, where've you been for the past six months?"

"_Six months!_" shrilled Gwen. "But we've only-"  
"We've been underground," the Doctor interrupted. "_Well, _sort of. _Well, _actually literally underground. Why, what's happened? Why is everyone gone?"

"The ones that were left were picked off one by one." The woman holstered her gun and relaxed her stance a little, but the two men kept their own weapons on the Doctor and the others.. "The only ones still alive now are the ones who wised up and got to shelter in time."

"Ma'am," interjected the DS boy, speaking for the first time. His voice took the Doctor by surprise. It was deeper than he'd expected, and shockingly grim and hollow. Now that the boy's face was turned up, the Doctor recognized the expression he'd seen many a time in soldiers just returned from war. He could read in the boy's face the desolation he felt, the way he'd lost faith in humanity. But as hollow as it was, the boy's voice was also clipped, urgent. He held up the DS.

"Another swarm is headed our way, we should get underground."

The woman nodded, making no explanatory comments as to the nature of the DS, only said, "Right then, you lot. We'll finish the story inside. I'm Juliette, by the way. Juliette Reve. Patron saint of the Survivors." And with that she spun on her heel and marched away down the street.

**Here's the thing. As they were my 50th reviewer, I let **Chasing** choose any fandom character to insert into a chapter. Well, technically he's getting three, and it's the blonde kid. Cookies for anyone who figures out who he is, before I tell you in the next chapter.**


	13. Survivors

**Survivors**

**I'm going to be pretty busy for the rest of the weekend, so this probably won't be updated until Tuesday or Wednesday. **

**Okay, here's something I will apologize for. This story is much longer than I originally intended. Thank you all for being patient. The chapter after the next one will start sloping towards the end. And we'll have the most exciting revelation party. I'll bring biscuits, who'll bring tea?**

**owning nothing**

If a London Underground station could be described as bustling, this place was completely packed. People, all dirty and scrawny, all wearing the same expression of complete and utter exhaustion, were crammed from one tiled wall to the Other. They milled slowly across the platforms and the tracks, listless as zombies. Gwen let out a quiet gasp of horror.

Juliette heard. The eight of them stood at the top step of the stairs leading down into the station. "This is all that's left of London."  
"How many?" asked the Doctor.

"Not done a proper census," replied Juliette. "Last guess was something like seven or eight hundred. An' every single one of them's broken."

"How do you mean broken?" said the Doctor, raking the crowd with his dark calculating eyes.

Juliette turned to him. "Have you ever lost someone, Doctor? Someone you love more than anything else in the world? Have them just ripped away for no reason, and it hurts so much your body won't function?"

The Doctor waited before answering, "Yes."

"It's happened to every single person down there. See, before the massacres began," Juliette brushed a strand of caramel colored hair out of her eyes, "there was the Disappearance. Half the population of the world vanished-" she snapped her fingers "-into thin air. "Just like that. No pattern, no science, no ransom. Nothing. And then the Toclafane started killing."

"When you say 'disappeared'," said Owen, "do you mean…"

"I mean one morning we woke up and they were gone. Like they'd never even existed. We've been trying to get them back, trying to capture a Toclafane to get some answers, but when they come, they come in their hundreds. It's proven nearly impossible." She sighed. "And now there's you four. Still alive, unarmed, traumatized by the looks of it, but aren't we all."

"Ma'am," said the tallest soldier, leaning close, "protocol is to take all newcomers to-"

"Yes, I know, thank you Ryan." Juliette started down the stairs and beckoned for them to follow her. "You've got to meet the boss lady."

The despondency of the dull-eyed masses took on new meaning as the four of them were led down the stairs and through the thick of them, and barely looked at once the Doctor accidentally trod on a woman's foot, but she didn't even look up. He was beginning to fear that their situation had not improved in the slightest.

After a trek of wending their way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd which seemed to take no time at all, they reached the public toilet. Juliette rapped four times on the door, and it creaked open, revealing a rather unusual sight: the floor was completely obscured by piles and stacks of paper and photographs in the midst of which sat a petite woman with thick, dark blonde hair tied up in a loose ponytail. She stared at a piece of paper, her eyes flicking so rapidly from left to right that they appeared blurred. (Juliette had explained earlier that her friend, the de facto leader of the refugee camp, had taken it upon herself to memorize everything about anything even remotely relating to the Toclafane. "She remembers everything," she'd said). She didn't notice them until Juliette cleared her throat ostentatiously.

Immediately, the woman got to her feet. She was quite small, barely over five feet. She had understated, blue-green eyes and a small pointed chin which made her face look narrower than it was..

"Hello, there," she said, brushing off her combat jacket, which was several sizes too big, and standing up. "Welcome to the Survivors, my name is-"

"_Katie,_" Owen breathed.

The woman, Katie, looked at him for a split second, then flung her arms and around him and squeezed so tight the Doctor was sure Owen's lungs would burst. Owen returned the hug, lifting the tiny woman off her feet, burying his face in her shoulder and- was that _sobbing?_

Tosh and Gwen frowned at each other, then looked back at Owen, who was now kissing the woman passionately. The Doctor averted his eyes and scratched the back of his neck. His gaze met Juliette's and he could tell she was equally as surprised.

She cleared her throat again. "Um, Kate?"

Owen and the woman broke apart. The woman coughed sheepishly. "Sorry, um…" her eyes drifted back to Owen and immediately she seemed to tune out of the conversation. "You're alive…"

"'Course I'm alive," said Owen, in a far gentler tone than any of them had ever heard before.

"_Katie,_" said Juliette, more emphatically. "We have four strangers in the camp. We found them wandering the streets. On the streets and _alive._"

"If they're with Owen, I trust them," Katie shot back without looking at her. She brushed a hand against Owen's cheek and kissed him again. "Find them somewhere to stay."

"Who are they? Who is _he?_" Juliette nodded to Owen.

Katie smiled. "He's my husband."

**oOo**

Juliette had explained, with a note of annoyance in her voice, that Katie had ushered the panicked masses into the underground, saving them. She'd started research operations, desperately searching for any clue as to the whereabouts of the disappeared. They'd found a whole stockpile of useful information in a warehouse near Downing Street, but upon the Doctor's urgent questioning, Juliette informed them that the building had been deserted.

The Doctor let out a long deep breath, and a silent promise to Martha, _I'll find you__**.**_

"Doctor, I don't understand," Gwen said looking around at the crush of people. "We couldn't have been inside for _six months._ It didn't feel like more than a couple days."

"That's the other thing about Deterrent Gas," said the Doctor in a low voice so Juliette didn't hear. "It messes with your body's timeline, makes things feel shorter than they are. Intergalactic extradition and all that. Lots of long trips."

Gwen had nodded, looking reassured. The Doctor's stomach squirmed at the lie, but he knew the value of retaining certain details, and there was no point in alarming the others just yet.

He and Juliette stood at the top of the stairs, both leaning forward with their forearms resting on the grimy railing, watching the molasses-like people.

"So, what about you?" the Doctor asked.

Juliette cocked her head to look at him. "About me what?"

The Doctor waved his hand over the station. "You said everyone here lost someone. Who did you lose?"

The silence was filled with a low thunderous rustling, the sound of hundreds of people shuffling their feet with their heads hung. Positively hopeless.

"My son," said Juliette. "Daniel Arthur Rêve." Her eyes fixated on a broken schedule board across the tracks, but the Doctor could tell she wasn't really seeing it.

"Tell me about him."

"He's seven years old. Eight next Wednesday. He's got his dad's black hair. He's the scrawniest kid in the neighborhood, and the fastest." Juliette laughed, a weak, sad sound. Her eyes glimmered in the dimming light. "He's going to be an Olympic sprinter. He's promised to take me with him to the 2020 Olympics." She gave a shuddering gasp.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said with a wince. His hackneyed refrain felt even emptier than usual. He could invent a new language comprised entirely of apologies, and even that wouldn't be enough.

"Everyone's in the same boat, though," said Juliette, shaking her head and blinking rapidly, regaining composure. "They've all lost family, friends. I'm sure you have."

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, but to his acute relief, Juliette didn't ask.

**oOo**

Gwen and Tosh were led through the sluggish chaos to the very remotest corner of the station, down near the tracks. From this vantage point, they could see that the tunnels were blocked up with bricks and debris, scraps of metal, wooden blocks.

"It's the same at the other end," said the man who was escorting them, one of the soldiers who had brought them in. "It's the fastest I've ever seen these people move. They finished filling in the tunnels in forty hours, after the Toclafane came and murdered half the refugees. We had more than a thousand to start."

Gwen covered her mouth with her hand. It wasn't possible. And yet already the horror of it was beginning to sink in. Only a few hundred people were left of the near ten million in the greater London area. All they had now was the Doctor. And what could he do?

**oOo**

"Anyways," Juliette was saying, "not much point now. We don't have anything to go on. We've barely got anyone left. We're as good as dead."

At these words, the Doctor frowned at her. "_What?_ Why are you saying that?"

"Because it's true," said Juliette with a grim shrug.

"No…" The Doctor took a hearty sniff. "Oh, no he didn't, how did he…?" he pushed himself away from the railing. "Juliette, where's your ventilation?"

Nonplussed, Juliette led him up the stairs and through a claustrophobic tunnel to a vent grate. The Doctor held out his hand.

"May I have my screwdriver back please?"

"Why?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her. "Because it's a_ screwdriver._"

Juliette huffed, but handed it over, and a second later the Doctor pried the grate from the wall and inspected the inside shaft. "Aha!" He reached his arm in and pulled out a small grey canister. "Gotcha!" He held it out for Juliette to see.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's Deterrent Gas," the Doctor explained. "Use by the Shado- erm - police to calm their more aggressive criminals. Basically, it makes you sad. _Well,_ it makes your brain think you're sad. _Well_, I guess that means you are sad. But now," he waved the screwdriver over it, and the canister clicked and whirred, "it is off."

"No wonder everyone was so quiet," said Juliette. Eagerly she climbed back out of the tunnel and crossed to the railing. Already they could hear more activity in the camp, and the volume of conversation was noticeably higher.

"Oh my God," Juliette murmured. "You did it!" Without warning, she stood on her toes and kissed the Doctor on the cheek. She blushed when he gaped at her, but grabbed his hand at the same time. "Come on, we've got to tell Katie!"

**oOo**

The change was immediately noticeable. People who minutes before had been practically comatose now moved about, conversed with each other. Children scampered around, chasing and playing games. Juliette actually laughed.

"Katie!" she cried, hammering on the door. "Katie!"

The door was opened by Owen, who was grinning like an idiot. "We know where the vanished people are."

Together, using pieces from the collection of papers scattered on the floor, Owen and Katie explained the evidence proving that a time shift had taken place, dividing the Earth into two separate times, with half the people in each.

"We think everyone's still here, just a step out of time," Katie finished, her face positively radiant.

"And now all that's left is to locate the epicenter and disable it!"

The Doctor gaped at the pair of them. "But…how did you figure that out?"

Owen shrugged, still grinning. "It was weird. Just…suddenly it all made sense." He squeezed Katie's hand. "Right inspiration, I guess. And I bet…" he looked at the Doctor, "that you can help us find the source."

The Doctor slipped on his glasses. "I can try. You have to understand-" he began sifting through the papers, and buzzing around the general area with the screwdriver. He inspected the reading "-that the signal…" he looked around at them, "is coming from Ten Downing Street."

**oOo**

The Doctor found the DS boy sitting against the rough brick wall at the top of the steps, just inside the mouth of the underground entrance. He held the DS loosely in his hands - rough and scarred, callused like Jack's - and he was once again watching the screen with the same single-minded intensity.

"Hello, there," said the Doctor, plopping down beside him. "What's your name?"

"Alex," the boy mumbled without looking up.

The Doctor leaned sideways so that he could peek over Alex's shoulder at the screen of the DS, but the light of the setting sun reflected off it, making it unreadable.

"What's that you've got?"

"It reads electrical fluctuations," said Alex, speaking to his hands. "Lets me know when the Toclafane are close."

The Doctor waved his screwdriver over the little device. "Ah, that's brilliant. Where'd you get that?"

"A friend." He really wasn't much of a talker. But then, the Doctor supposed that wasn't entirely out of place.

"Who is he?" Alex asked abruptly.

The Doctor looked at him in mild surprise. "Who is who?"

"The man controlling the Toclafane. I think you know."

Intrigued, the Doctor asked, "How do you know a man is controlling them?"

"I've heard him speak." The boy took a breath, and the Doctor wondered if he was nervous to be talking to him. "I saw a Toclafane up close, just after the disappearance. But I heard a man's voice coming from inside it. Who is he?"

The Doctor hid a small smile. He liked an intuitive youngster. "He's an alien," he said simply. "An alien determined to wipe out the human race."

"Then why hasn't he?" said Alex.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. He gestured around at the glum station. "He's done a pretty thorough job so far, don't you think?"

Alex shook his head. "He's letting us live. If he wanted to, it wouldn't be exactly hard to send the Toclafane in to kill us."

The Doctor found himself at a loss for words. The kid was right. And that was rather frightening. Ianto could send in an army at any time, and they would be almost completely helpless. So why was he letting them live? The Doctor was so deep in thought he didn't even realize that Alex had gotten to his feet and walked away.

**So in case you didn't get it, that was Alex Rider, from the series of the same name by Anthony Horowitz.**

**Also, apologies if you saw the name Melody anywhere. Juliette's name was originally Melody Smith, but I realized that might cause some confusion what with Melody Pond and all, so I went through and changed the names, but apologies if I missed one.**


	14. Misery Loves Company

**Misery Loves Company**

As far as planning processes went, the one to break into 10 Downing Street was the quickest the Doctor had ever seen. Everyone seemed to be in super-efficient mode. Everyone, that is, except Owen and Katie, who had developed an odd habit of disappearing periodically for an hour or two, and then returning, acting as though nothing had happened. However, sometimes when Katie was on the other side of the room, or speaking to someone else, the Doctor would catch Owen watching her with a very different expression than his infatuated dreamy smile. Something much closer resembling intense misery.

In only two days, a viable operation had been planned. First, a small force of ten would travel up the main road in front of Number 10, force entry through the front door and take out any immediate threats. According to Juliette, there had been no signs of life from the building (or anywhere else in the city), but as the Doctor's account attested that there were quite definitely still people inside, they weren't taking any risks.

At the same time, the Doctor, Juliette, Alex, Katie, Owen, Gwen and Tosh would enter though the back and endeavor to locate and disable the epicenter of the time shift.

The night before the plan was set to take place found the Doctor and Juliette once again standing atop the steps overlooking the now much more lively refugee camp. They were silent for a long time, neither feeling the particular need to converse. The Doctor observed that in this light, with the dim moonlight shining down from the street above, Juliette really looked quite lovely. The silvery beams tinted the caramel streaks in her hair, making her head glitter when she moved.

After several minutes, Juliette asked, "Are you scared?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"

Juliette shrugged. "Even if the building's empty, there's still the Toclafane. There's no guarantee any of us will make it out of there tomorrow."  
The Doctor eyed her critically, as though x-raying her. "That's not it," he said shrewdly.

"What?"

"You're not afraid of dying. You're not even afraid of the others dying."

Juliette furrowed her brow, focusing on a random spot in the crowd. The Doctor seemed to be waiting for her to confirm his words, but she said nothing.

"You're afraid that even if we _do_ fix the time shift, that you won't get your son back."

Juliette blinked, and a single tear dripped from the corner of her eye. "This camp started with a little over a thousand people. We couldn't find anyone else. Even with half the city gone, there should have been at least five million. And if the Toclafane are killing here, what if they're killing on the other side, too? Danny's got no one, he's only seven, what if he-" she clapped a hand to her mouth, crying in earnest.

"Hey, hey." The Doctor folded her into a hug and let her press her face against his shoulder.

"I can't live without him," she mumbled into his jacket. "His father died last year and I just…"

They stood motionless for a minute or two more, while Juliette calmed herself down. She pulled away, wiped her hand against her eyes. "I was a geography teacher," she said wryly. "I don't think knowing the capital of Liberia is going to help anyone tomorrow."

"You never know," said the Doctor.

**oOo**

"Never thought I'd make it to Downing Street," Juliette whispered as she and the Doctor and the others padded down the carpeted hallway. "I was gonna be Prime Minister, you know. Be the first country to legalize same sex marriage and everything."

The Doctor was about to reply when his screwdriver beeped, just as they passed a door halfway down the hall. He held up a hand, and everyone came to a halt. Alex was once again immersed in his DS. They would need all the warning they could get. Owen took Katie's hand in his and held it firmly.

The door handle was unlocked. That should have been the first clue. Inside, looking just the same as ever, was the TARDIS. The Doctor smacked his palm to his forehead. "Of course! Stupid me!" How had he not realized it before? What other technology was there on Earth with the ability to physically shift time? How did they actually know time had been shifted at all, he wondered suddenly. They'd gone in to see Katie and Owen, and they'd already known. How? And he'd just taken their word. He hadn't even checked for the source. He'd just known. Why did he feel like he was being led by the hand? And to where was he being led?

"Can you fix it, Doctor?" asked Gwen.

"'Course I can," said the Doctor indignantly, all traces of doubt gone from his mind. He flashed Juliette a cocky grin. "I'm brilliant."

They were inside the TARDIS. The Doctor had a tangle of wires resting in his lap which he was twisting and sonic-ing them in a complicated manner. Juliette watched him, so impressed by his brilliance she wasn't even gaping around at the TARDIS. Alex was. He stood off to one side, DS held limply by his side. His mouth was shut, which was unusual, but his dark, calculating eyes swept over every inch of the control room, taking in each detail, filing it all into a head already far too full of the impossible.

"Good!" the Doctor cried as the wires sparked and the TARDIS engines whirred. "Got it." He stuffed the tangle back down beneath a panel and threw a lever on the console, kick starting the old grinding wail, music to the Doctor's ears.

_Pew! Pew! Pew! _What triumphant escape would be complete without a horde of bloodthirsty metal spheres firing at your retreating backs? The control room shook violently with each blast, knocking Juliette to the floor. Sparks exploded over head. And then it was over.

The Doctor bounded down the ramp with the others in his wake, pulled open the door, and peeked outside. He looked over his shoulder at everyone, face inscrutable.

"Doctor?" asked Juliette tentatively. She and Alex moved to stand in the doorframe next to the Doctor.

The Doctor pulled the door the rest of the way, revealing a London street. It was packed. Hundreds of puzzled looking people stood blinking in the sunlight, staring around.

"Alex! Alex!" A young woman with unkempt blonde hair and an American accent shouldered her way to the bewildered crowd to where Alex stood, a little behind the Doctor and Juliette. She was beaming and, looking at Alex, the Doctor saw him smile too. The woman threw her arms around him and squeezed so hard the Doctor thought his spine might snap.

"Oh, thank God. Thank God, are you alright, are you hurt?" The woman pushed back Alex's hair, ran her hands along his arms, checking for injuries.

"Stop fussing," said Alex, the affected impatience tweaked by undeniable fondness. "I'm fine. For once." He turned to the Doctor, gave him a brief nod, which the Doctor returned, and Alex and the woman moved off into the crowd.

"Yes!" Juliette cheered. She placed her hands on either side of the Doctor's head and pulled his lips to hers. When they broke apart, he stared at her with wide eyes and opened his mouth but-

"Mummy!"

"Danny!"

A tiny boy with long skinny legs and jet black hair was sprinting toward them, impossibly fast, dodging between legs and around backsides. When he reached them, Juliette swept him up into her arms and held him tight, covering his head in kisses, crying all the while.

The Doctor smiled to himself, shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off through the crowd. But his smile faded as his brain ground into proper action for what felt like the first time since they'd escaped. London was huge. What were the odds they happen upon the only five hundred people left alive? What were the odds two random people, with little to no scientific background, could suddenly realize they were in a time shift. What were the odds that the leader of the last refugees in the city just happened to be someone who trusted one of them, was married to one of them. Something was very, very wrong.

Katie.

The Doctor whirled around, searching for Owen, and spotted him standing near a brick wall, one arm around Katie's shoulders.

"Owen!" the Doctor cried. "Come with me now!"

Frowning, he and Katie started forward but the Doctor flung up a hand. "You stay," he said to Katie. When he and Owen had reached a safe distance from her, watching them with a concerned expression, the Doctor asked in a low voice, "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing's wrong with her," Owen snapped.

"She's not supposed to be here," the Doctor persisted. "She's _wrong_. I didn't realize it until now. She doesn't make sense."

"There is nothing _wrong _with my wife." Owen spun angrily on his heel and began walking away.

"Except she's not your wife." Owen stopped dead in his tracks. The Doctor looked terribly grim. "I've been through the Torchwood records. You're not married."

He could see in Owen's eyes that he knew what he was talking about. "Owen, this could be life or death. Tell me what's wrong with her."

"Nothing."

"Owen, I-"

"She's dead!" Owen cut himself off as he realized how loudly he'd shouted. "My fiancée died, a few weeks before our wedding."

The Doctor nodded. "I thought so."

His brain was on full alert. Every molecule of it was racing at light speed, working through the clues. With Katie, it seemed incontrovertible. They were-

"Doctor!"

He didn't have to turn around to recognize the speaker. A wide smile spread across his face, wiping the turmoil from his mind, as he wrapped Martha Jones in a bear hug. Also beaming, she began explaining the harrowing months during which she'd worked tirelessly all on her own to find a way to rescue him, and how one day, half the world had been gone. The Doctor listened with distinct pride as she told him how she'd organized a medical relief effort and saved dozens.

"…and I knew that it had to be something weird and timey, " Martha concluded, "so I kept telling people that you could fix it, and here we are!"

"And here we…" the Doctor trailed off, staring at a point in the crowd, "…are." It had to be his imagination. No, there it was again.

Without an explanation, he started off, walking, then jogging, chasing after the blonde head bobbing away down the street. He brushed past Owen and Katie without sparing them a glance. He was sprinting now. _Almost. Ten feet. _

"Rose!"

_Wham! _He collided with a solid concrete wall.

**oOo**

He could hear Owen screaming in the corner of his mind. The thumping of his fists on the door, bellowing Katie's name. Now, of course, it all made sense. The way time had seemed to slip sometimes, the inconsistencies, the lack of people - a cyberlock could only maintain a finite number of individual entities at once - the way they'd known things they couldn't possibly know. Ianto had been guiding them through the whole time. Alex had never been real. Juliette had never been real. The Doctor was surprised how sharply the realization stung.

"We were out!" Owen sobbed. "Katie!"

At last, he stormed himself into exhaustion. Tosh and Gwen had long since fallen silent.


	15. Message in a Time Capsule

**Message in a Time Capsule**

**Thanks again to everyone who's reading this. Smiles for you. Just one quick note for any superwhovians reading this. Eccleston, Ackles, Padalecki. Ackleston. Padaleckleston. Just something to note. **

**Disclaimer: owning nothing.**

_11 months after the invasion._

"They come in zebra stripes now," said Donna, slamming the warehouse door and unwinding her scarf from around her neck. (The scarf being rather bulky, and effectively hiding half of her face when donned properly). She had a plastic bag in one hand, filled with cans and boxes of nonperishable food. They'd had a fridge wired up, but it had overloaded and died when the new power system went online, the new power system specialized for charging your Toclafane, with three times as much energy as the previous system. One touch of the plug and the fridge had sparked, the bulb had exploded, and all their food had become quite depressingly inedible.

Donna crossed the warehouse to the table where Martha sat, surrounded by photographs, hand drawings, newspapers, and handwritten notes. She looked haggard and frustrated, with bloodshot eyes and greasy hair that hung in lanky strands. Martha had not been outside in over nine months, not since the incident with the Toclafane in the alley, the night they had gotten the gun. After that, Donna had done the shopping and reconnoitering, while Martha amassed her library.

The collected information was separated into four piles: First, 10 Downing Street. Blue prints, personnel, history, etc., because odds were good they would have to break in. Second, the Doctor. He was bound to have friends whom they could contact and ask for help. The problem they faced was how. The Doctor's friends were scattered across time and space, it wasn't as though they could send an evite. Martha and Donna's first discussion of the Doctor had taken a rather unexpected turn…

_"This friend of yours," said Donna, leaning casually against the edge of the table, "the one who's going to save us…do you fancy him?"_

_"No!" cried Martha, blushing horribly. "Of course not! Why would you think that?"_

_"Because of the way you talk about him." It was an almost magical moment, because for just one second, Donna and Martha weren't trying fruitlessly to usurp corrupt government and save the planet, they were just two mates gossiping about boys. "You know, you always say," Donna adopted a low, breathless tone of voice, "'He's mad and wild and wonderful and I just want to bear his children and I-'"_

_"Oh, stop it!" said Martha, her chocolate colored cheeks pinkening even more. "That's not how I sound! It's just…he's so _wonderful_, and sometimes he frightens me, but he always makes up for it with his big dopey grin and-"_

_"Martha," Donna interrupted, realization dawning on her face, "your friend wouldn't be the Doctor by any chance, would he?"_

_"Yes," said Martha in surprise. "how'd you know?"_

_"I met him once, last Christmas. We drained the Thames, him and me. An' I was looking for him. Funny this should be the way I find him."_

The third pile had proven the most difficult to acquire, even with access to government mainframes. (The computers had more energy capacity, and Martha still had Jack's laptop.) Both Martha and Donna believed that the Toclafane had another purpose, one much less benign than walking dogs, and had come to the conclusion that knowing their weaknesses might come in extremely handy. They knew that the gun the Americans had had worked, but had been unable to find one even remotely like it. So far the most they'd been able to collect had been advertisements for apps and personalizations for the little spheres, which was where the zebra stripes came in.

Their first idea had been to cut the Toclafane off from its power source, but Donna's grandfather had shot that one down. He owned a Toclafane, but had refused to buy the charger, claiming it to be a corporate scam, and he had proven to be right. Ten months later, it was still running as well as the day he'd gotten it.

So they'd begun scouring wanted ads and help columns, searching for malfunctioning Toclafane or Toclafane maintenance, but had struck out once more. At least on a domestic level, the Toclafane seemed invincible.

The fourth pile had been Donna's idea, and she persisted despite Martha's many insistences that she watched too much telly. Donna had invested in what she called "spy stuff." Essentially, 'how to's for using codes, breaking and entering, and basic self defense. Because their ultimate plan was to break into 10 Downing Street and rescue the Doctor.

Donna handed Martha a can of lukewarm chicken noodle soup, which she accepted with a poorly disguised grimace, and set it to the side without eating any.

"I think it's time," she said. "It's time to save the Doctor. We've done all we can from where we are. We need him."

"Great," said Donna. "Let's go, then. Let's just…break into Ten Downing street, shall we? I'm sure this Ianto bloke wouldn't notice two random women just appearin' in his office. Come on."

"That's not exactly what I meant," said Martha with a small smile. "The Secretary of Defense needs a temp, and I've thought of a way to call for help."

**oOo**

It was really absurdly easy to break into the Random House Publishing warehouse. They didn't know what to make of the lack of security, but they said a prayer of thanks and hoped that fate was on their side. All it took was a few lines of computer code to stamp an image of the TARDIS on the inside cover, above the words, "HELP 9-17-2007 332 Baker Street". All that was left was to pray.

_In the following centuries, the Harry Potter books would be printed and reprinted in 17,000,000 galactic languages all over the universe, become required reading in Earth 101 university courses, and be preserved forever in The Library. In short, Martha and Donna had chosen their vessel well._

**oOo**

Martha awoke on the seventeenth of September with terrible butterflies swarming in her stomach. Today was their last chance. If no one answered the call, Donna would be entirely on her own against Ianto. Martha prayed someone would come.

"Martha?" Donna whispered from the darkness beside her. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"_There's someone at the door!"_

Martha's hand closed around the nearest item on the floor next to her mattress, a torch. Slowly, she padded barefoot to the door with Donna close behind.

"I got your message," said a voice from the other side of the door. "Where's the Doctor?"

**oOo**

Toshiko had stopped talking entirely three months ago. Only a week later, she stopped eating. The only one of them who could get a sign of life out of her was Owen, and even then, the most he could do was get her to open her mouth and swallow. She was the smallest, the Doctor had explained during a brief moment when everyone had come to, and therefore most susceptible to the Deterrent Gas. Spirits in the tiny, dank cell had gone from low to nonexistent, until they received a visitor on September 17th of 2007. Not that any of them knew the date.

No one really registered the muffled shouting, "_Get your hands off me!_" The door to their cell swung open and two guards pushed a writhing woman with curly, light brown hair inside. She whirled around and screamed at the closing door, "You can tell Mr. Jones to stick his thumb up his-" _BANG! _The door slammed shut.

The woman spun around, breathing hard. She smiled flirtatiously at the Doctor.

"Hello, sweetie."

**All reviews appersheated. **


	16. Rampant

**Rampant**

_River Song loved books. She mostly loved history books, it didn't matter which planet, so long as the Doctor had been there at some point in time, and that someone had recorded it. Every time she found an account of his antics, it was like he was sending her a little gift, one more bit of himself she could savor. But occasionally, she also read the classics, and on that particular night in Stormcage, she was reading 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince'._

**oOo**

_The Doctor was very irritated in that adorable way of his when he arrived in the TARDIS. He huffed and unconsciously straightened his bowtie, but he returned the gentle kiss River pressed on his lips as she breezed past him to the control panel._

_"River," the Doctor said, closing the door, "I'm not a taxi service. You can't just summon me up whenever you fancy a trip."_

_River ran a finger along his right suspender and up to his jaw line. "But you always come, my love. And anyways," she flicked a few switches and the floor began to vibrate gently, "this time it's important."_

_"Oh really?" The Doctor pulled River around so they were almost nose to nose. River's heart beat faster. He knew her now, trusted her. He was **her **Doctor. She would have given anything to lock the TARDIS door and stay with him forever. But she feared that if she did not answer the plea, there would be no Doctor with whom to stay._

_"And just what might this important thing be?"_

_River only smiled her mysterious smile. "Time paradoxes, sweetie. Remember the rules." She kissed him on the nose and he scowled and rolled his eyes._

_When the TARDIS eased to a stop, minus the grinding wail, the Doctor poked his head curiously out the door. "London! Excellent. I haven't been in this neighborhood since…" he trailed off, looked over his shoulder at River, a much more sober expression on his face. She nodded. "Then thank you, my dear," he said as she joined him at the door. He took both of her hands in his. "And… I forgive you."_

_"What for?"_

_Together they stepped outside. The Doctor smiled sadly, with no hint of the usual smugness he had when it was he who got to say, "Spoilers." He shut the TARDIS door behind him, and it vanished._

**oOo**

The Doctor and the others had not been re-chained to the walls; apparently their despondency had been deemed sufficiently constrictive. They had been sitting in silence for quite some time, none having anything much to say to any of the others. But upon the arrival of this strange new woman, the Doctor had leapt to his feet and drawn himself up to look down at her.

She was pretty, to be sure, and she smiled flirtatiously at him with unnerving familiarity. Falling back on instinct, the Doctor said, "Hello, I'm the Doctor."

"Oh, believe me," said the woman, "I know."

"Yeah, sorry. Um, who are you?"

The Doctor wasn't sure, but he thought he had caught just the slightest flicker of uncertainty before the woman raised her eyebrows as though he was missing something obvious, and addressed the others. "Professor River Song." Eyes back to the Doctor. "I'm the dashing white knight. Now come on, damsel, let's get out of here."

River Song knelt down in front of the door through which she had come and examined the lock. "Hmm." She held out her hand behind her, palm open and facing upwards. "Sweetie, where's the sonic screwdriver?"

The Doctor just stared at her with his brow furrowed in utter perplexity. "_What?_"

River looked over at him. "The _screwdriver, _dear," she said patiently. "We're not likely to get through the door without it."

"I don't have it," the Doctor admitted grudgingly, recalling with a sharp sense of humiliation the trouble they'd gone to to get it out of his pocket, only to have it so brutally confiscated.

They saw River suppress a teasing grin. "The Doctor without his screwdriver. Never thought I'd see the day." She shrugged. "I guess it's on to plan B then." She reached inside the front of her blouse and withdrew two small, squat cylinders, which she positioned above and below the lock.

"Nice, love," said Owen sarcastically. "But won't an explosion just bring the guards running?"

River gave him a pitying look that brought a pale pink flush to his cheeks. "They're not explosives." She pressed her thumb on the center of each cylinder, and waited.

A second later there was a soft beeping, the high-pitched hum of a drill, and the hiss of acid. Smoke trickled through the crack between door and wall, and the door swung inward.

"Coming, pretty boy?" River said over her shoulder. Without waiting for an answer, she strode out into the hall outside. The Doctor followed, still eyeing her with extreme suspicion. Gwen hurried after him, and Owen, supporting Toshiko, trailed sluggishly behind.

"Doctor," Gwen whispered, keeping her voice too low for River to hear, "we have to find Jack."

After Ianto had had Jack moved out of their cell to do God only knew what, they'd begun to listen instead of talk talk. Or rather, try to drown out the sounds. Sometimes at night they could hear faint screams filtering down through the ceiling. Owen seemed indifferent, Tosh and Gwen winced and wept, and with every scream the sadness in the Doctor's eyes grew. But the sadness was not for Jack.

The Doctor turned around to face the Torchwood agents. Owen was leading Tosh along a few paces away, gripping her elbow firmly. She was still distant, vacant, but her eyes found the Doctor and focused on him with some small flicker of recognition.

"Right, you lot need to find Jack and _get out of here._"

"What will you do?" Gwen asked.

The Doctor lowered his voice further. "I'm going to find Ianto, and keep an eye on our new friend."

"Do you know her, Doctor?" asked Gwen.

"Not yet," was all the Doctor would say before returning to River's side, leaving Owen, Gwen and Tosh to negotiate their way upstairs.

River continued to march briskly through the tunnels, with the Doctor perfectly matching her pace. "Well," she said casually, "you're doing a good job pretending you don't know me. Where are we, then?" She cast a sidelong glance at him as they stepped over a pipe running across the corridor at knee height. The Doctor, having been holding her gaze, bumped into it and nearly toppled forward before seizing a pipe parallel with the ceiling and level with his head and clinging to it. River snickered, waited for the Doctor to climb over the pipe, and said, "Early days, judging by the hair. Have we done the crash at the Byzantium yet?"

The Doctor just stared at her.

"_Really?_ No? Lake Silencio? Thames 1814? No? Blimey," River sighed. "_Really _early days." She shrugged in what was clearly supposed to be a throwaway gesture, but the movement carried more weight, lasted longer. She was clearly upset, although her voice was light as she said, "I suppose we'll just have to make do."

The Doctor stopped, grabbed her shoulder. "Who are you?"

For the first time, River's forehead wrinkled in what might have been the beginnings of sadness. "Doctor, please tell me you know who I am."

The Doctor shook his head.

"Right," said River in a brave attempt at nonchalance. "We'll just have to work on that, then. Come on, plenty to do." She spun on her heel and kept walking.

"Where are you going?"

"The TARDIS of course."

"Of course," the Doctor muttered. He was really quite taken aback by this woman. Obviously she was from his personal future. That much was clear, and not altogether unheard of. He was a time traveler, after all. No, it was her manner with him. She was incredibly comfortable, romantic even. The Doctor could not imagine any scenario in which he would behave like that with someone, not even with…he pushed the thoughts away. Drowned out Bad Wolf Bay with a question: what kind of person was he when he knew her? And how had she even gotten here? For now, he decided, he would follow her and observe.

At long last, they came to a cluster of thick, rusting pipes, and through a gap just below eye level, they could see the bright blue wood of the police box.

"How did you find her?" the Doctor asked in genuine amazement. He himself had tried time and time again over the last months to contact the TARDIS, to establish a signal strong enough to wake her up, but had found himself blocked every time, by what he didn't know. But he could guess.

River grinned slyly. "Psychic connection." At the Doctor's expression, she added, "Spoilers. Can't tell you what's in your future." The Doctor frowned, but accompanied River around the pipes to the TARDIS door.

He dug into his pocket for the key, remembering with a moment of quiet pride how he had concealed it to keep it from being confiscated, however when he looked up, the door was already open and River was inside, caressing the control panel as one might a favorite pet.

"What's happened to you, girl?" she said sadly.

"She's trying to hold a paradox," the Doctor explained. "How did you open the door?"

River ignored him. "She's dying," she murmured. She pulled up a panel of the console, exposing a jumble of sparking, smoking wires and tubes. "I can fix her," she said. "But it'll take some time." She looked up at the Doctor. "You should go help your friends."

The Doctor laughed humorlessly. "Ha, I'm not leaving you alone for a second with her until you've answered some questions. Who are you?"

"Dr. River Song, professor of archaeo-"

"_To me_," the Doctor interrupted. "Who are you to me? Why did you come?"

"Your friends sent a message," said River without looking up from the wires she was unplugging and rearranging.

"Why did you come?" the Doctor repeated.

"I always come, sweetie," said River. "You'll learn that soon enough." And then, almost unconsciously, she grasped his hand and squeezed it. "Just like you always do."

The Doctor opened his mouth, but the moment vanished as a harsh blaring alarm sounded from above.

"You need to go help your friends! Don't worry about the TARDIS, I'll get her fixed."  
"I'm still not leaving you alone with her." The Doctor folded his arms. "I don't know you and I _definitely _don't trust you."

"You will," insisted River, an air of frustration apparent in her voice. "But I don't have time to wait for you, so I am sorry. I'm very, very sorry." She placed her hands on either of his shoulders and pulled his ear to her mouth.

When she released him, the Doctor stared at her with something close to fear.  
"How do you know that?"

River shook her head. "Spoilers. Now go. Just _go!_ Wait!" she held out a small, oddly shaped piece of clear plastic. "Take this and put it in your ear. I hear everything you hear, and you can hear everything I say."

The Doctor nodded, the fear still prevalent on his face.

"Good luck," said River.

The Doctor was too shocked to reply.

**oOo**

The Doctor was sure that by now he should have become accustomed to Ianto's evil leer, but it still just looked so _wrong _on his young, round face. He stood in the Prime Minister's office at the head of the long mahogany table. To his left, Gwen, Owen, Tosh, and Jack, the last of whom looked quite the worse for wear, stood against the wall. The Doctor didn't want to imagine what hell Ianto had put him through during the last ten months. Whatever it had been, Jack's eyes were now as vacant at Tosh, and his mouth was permanently turned downward in a pathetic grimace.

Ianto gestured out the wide bay window. "We're living in a paradox, Doctor. But you know that. You've seen the TARDIS. I didn't call you up here to tell you that. I merely wanted to enumerate the many joys of paradoxes. For example," he waved his hand over the Torchwood team, "I am able to go back in time and kill everyone of them, with the exception of dear Jack, of course. Where did you dig him up, anyway? I couldn't find him anywhere. Anyways, in the time outside this paradox, they're all dead. So, as you may now be realizing, Doctor, if your pretty blonde friend does succeed in reversing the paradox, they…" he let the sentence hang, his eyes burning into the Doctor's.

"They'll die," the Doctor croaked. "She shouldn't fix it, then." He laid as much stress as he dared on those last words, praying River was listening. He relaxed a miniscule amount when he heard her breathe, "Loud and clear, sweetie."

"But that's just a bonus!" said Ianto with a manic grin. "The _real _purpose is just…just poetic. And here I must thank my dear Toclafane."

"What have you done?" said the Doctor.

"You know how humans are always saying 'our children will pay the price for our arrogance'? For the way they wage wars and pollute and wipe out entire species, and all that fun stuff, completely ravaging the planet. Which, in fairness," he added, "isn't much of a planet. I mean, look at it. Six billion people, puh-lease. They're practically a microcosm." Ianto snickered. "But that's not the point. The point is, today, the children get their revenge."

"Doctor, what does he mean?" asked Gwen.

With an expression of pure evil, Ianto said, "Oh yes, Doctor. I took genetically altered humans from the year one-hundred-_trillion._ The _end _of the _universe, _and I brought them back to the generation that started it all. And all that's left," he slid aside a panel of the wooden table, revealing a single red button, "is to send out the order."

There was a click from behind Ianto, and a voice said, "Hands up, tough guy."


	17. The Order

**The Order**

**Don't own anything.**

**Thanks go out to everyone who is reading this. **

_Damn paradoxes._ River Song had been aware - and resentful - of them for nearly all of her life. They were what separated her from the Doctor, what sourced that ever-present veil which hung between them, because lately the Doctor had never quite been _her _Doctor, and she couldn't even tell him who _her _Doctor was, because of the rules he himself had set. Because of paradoxes.

But this type of thing must have been what the Doctor had been trying to prevent. And now if she ended the paradox, fixed the TARDIS the way she so desperately longed to, the Doctor's friends would die. This Welsh asshole had brains, she had to give him that. Alternate realities were a bitch.

River paused in her mental ranting. _Alternate reality._

She resumed the flurry of movement over the TARDIS' innards, chipping away at the boundaries of the paradox. Unconsciously, her hand slid across the holster at her waist, for reassurance.

**oOo**

Ianto laughed, a slimy, nauseating sound. "Put that down little girl, before someone gets hurt."

Donna held firm. Her arms never wavered as they held the gun out in front of her, pointed straight at Ianto. "Not until you let my friends go. Martha was right. Haven't got a choice with you."

"Donna, how did you even get in here?" asked the Doctor.

"Nice to see you again, Doctor," said Donna, eyes still fixed on the Ianto. "Have to admit this wasn't exactly how I pictured finding you, but hey, it'll do. Saving the world and all that."

Ianto shook his head. "Lovely reunion. But I'm afraid I don't need your friends now." He reached under the desk. Donna tensed but didn't fire. Ianto placed an adjustable tripod and video camera on the desk.

"What're you doing?" Donna demanded.

Ianto grinned. "Watch." He pressed the round red button. "Time for my first appearance."

Donna squeezed the trigger.

**oOo**

It was like something out of a cheesy apocalypse film. Screams echoed up and down the streets of London, interspersed with the high-pitched _pew! pew! _of the Toclafane's lazers.

Martha sprinted down the road, ducking behind cars, hopping between doorways and fences. Only feet in front of her, she saw a Toclafane bearing down on a chubby blond man in his thirties who was running for his life. As Martha watched, a narrow beam of green light shot out from a short silver arm on the Toclafane's shell catching the man in the back, sending him sprawling face-first onto the asphalt, where he lay still. The Toclafane whirred around and flew back down the street and around the corner.

The moment it was gone, Martha crouched at the man's side. She pressed her fingers to his throat, but there was no pulse. She leaned back until she was sitting and stared at the sky swarming with Toclafane, letting the waves of hopeless horror wash over her. They'd been right. The Toclafane were going to kill everyone in London. Everyone on the planet.

Gunshots sounded the next street over, followed by something that might have been a cannon blast.

On shaking legs, Martha left the dead man and snuck carefully to the next intersection. A tank and half a dozen soldiers fired at a group of Toclafane floating above the street. The spheres weren't shooting back, but neither were they showing any sign of damage.

Across the street, all the TV's in an electronics shop suddenly flickered to life, each filled with the same face. A face Martha hadn't seen for a year, and one she knew she was never going to forget.

"Hello, people of the Earth!" said Ianto Jones cheerfully. "My name is the Master. I am taking control of this planet, and you, my dear degenerate apes, are all going to die." His grin widened to one of manic glee, disturbingly reminiscent of the Doctor in some of his wilder moods. "Have a nice day!" The screens went black.

**oOo**

Ianto looked down at the perfect hole singed in the left shoulder of his suit. He sighed at Donna. "Really, Miss Noble? I'm rather underwhelmed. I had heard such great things about you."

"What things?" asked Donna in a trembling voice. The gun was still raised, but it shook now.

"Oh Doctor. Donna," Ianto said with a delightedly knowing look. "You've not figured it out yet. Oh, that _is _fun. Well, Donna," he waved his hand, and instantly a Toclafane materialized and zapped the gun from her hand with a bolt of energy, and pushed her against the wall with the others, "I can promise there is _quite _a bit of excitement in your future. The universe has been waiting a long, long time for you."

"Doctor, what does he mean?" asked Donna.

"Ianto, stop," the Doctor pleaded, ignoring Donna and looking Ianto directly in the eyes. "Please just stop. You don't have to do this."

"No, I do," said Ianto. "I really, _really _do. This planet is mine, and there's not enough room for two Time Lords."

"Ianto, why are you doing this?" Jack spoke for the first time. His voice was hoarse and weak. He'd been screaming. His eyes shone and his forehead was creased with agonizing grief. "This isn't you."

"He isn't Ianto, Jack," said the Doctor without taking his eyes off of Ianto. "He never was. He's not the Master, either. There's no such person. The Master is a myth."

"No, but he's right." Ianto walked back around the desk toward them. "It isn't me. I'm not the one choosing to do this. I'm not in charge here."

"Then who?"

"Not who, Doctor," whispered Ianto. "_What._" He tapped his fingers along the table's surface. _Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. _"The drumming. It never, _ever _stops, it just keeps on going and going and going, saying the same thing over and _over _and _over _again. And this," he held up his arms, "is what it wants me to do."

"Great," said Owen. "The world in the hands of a psychopathic schizophrenic."

**oOo**

Martha ran harder than she'd ever run in her life. In her ear, she heard River say, "Get out of there! Get to safety. Hide somewhere and _stay._ Don't try to fight, don't try to get to us. We will come for you. Martha, _run._" The words were half drowned out by loud hisses, pops and crackles she recognized as those made by the TARDIS.

When at last she reached the warehouse, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, panting, letting the tears stream freely down her face. The bodies on the streets flashed before her mind's eye, lying splayed in the gutter, draped over park benches eyes wide open and staring. They were all dead.

**oOo**

"Oh, listen to the screams, Doctor," Ianto breathed. His eyes were closed as he faced the tall window over-looking the city. A mad, blissful smile touched the corners of his mouth. He sucked in a deep breath, and let it out with a shuddering sigh. He turned to face the Doctor.

"Does it remind you of home?" With a steady, slow walk he drew near his prisoner. Jack tensed, a snarl escaping his lips, but Gwen placed a firm hand on his arm.

"Of flying in the sky," Ianto leaned in close to the Doctor. "While our home burned beneath you? While our people died, screaming, like they're screaming." He pointed out the window. "Ah," he sighed, "such nostalgia."

"But why?" the Doctor asked again. "Why? Give me an answer."

Ianto's head drooped to look at his shoes, but the gesture was not one of shame. The look he gave the Doctor was patronizing, the smug expression one gets when they know something the other doesn't.

"Oh, Doctor. Oh, my tortured, lonely brother. I think you know why I'm doing this." He narrowed his eyes, as though trying to drill with them through the Doctor's face, into his mind. "I think you know _exactly _why."

The Doctor stared. He didn't understand, not yet, but he felt the faintest hint of an inkling. A terrible inkling.

"Wasn't this always the plan?" Ianto raised his hands high as though in exultation, turning to the carnage visible through the window. "Wasn't this always the end game? When you stood in the sky and looked down upon the ruins of Gallifrey, did you not know this was always the final destination. Did you not know, did you not see, when you looked into the Untempered Schism? Even an eight-year-old, surely…"

The Doctor's eyes had gone round as dinner plates with unconcealed horror. "_No_."

"I am merely the loyal soldier," Ianto said. "Here on a mission for the greater good of our species. And I am so near its end. Soon, Doctor, soon, we will be alone no longer. You and I will be the heralds of the next great age of Time Lords."

"There are none left!" The words tore themselves from the Doctor's throat, harsh and feral. "The Council is dead! There is no one, no one left to give you orders."

"Oh, so you _do _know who I am," said Ianto. "Clever Doctor."

"Doctor?" said Donna. "Doctor, who is he?"

"He's the Soldier," said the Doctor, in a voice dripping with the closest thing any of them had ever heard to hatred. "The lap dog of the Time Lord High Council. Any dirty work needed doing, he was the one they sent. He did his job quick and clean, no questions asked. That man has killed billions."

"You haven't mentioned the Toclafane, Doctor," said Ianto. "I thought it an appropriate name. They are exacting their revenge upon the generation who destroyed the Earth. But I, too, was rather like a Toclafane, wasn't I? The avenging angel, delivering justice from on high."

"You _slaughtered _entire civilizations on the whims of _ignorant old men._"

"I did as I was ordered," said Ianto sharply, and with just a trace of defensiveness. Was he trying to justify himself, or persuade the Doctor? "As I am now. And once the Earth has been wiped clean of this human pestilence, the new Gallifrey will rise."

"If that was your mission," said the Doctor, "why did you torture Jack?"

"My mandate," Ianto said simply. "Every single human must die." He pointed at jack with an evil flint in his eye. "Except he can't, can he? So I was faced with a dilemma." He looked apologetically to Jack. "I did consider just exiling you to the moon, jack. But there was just so much red tape." His gaze moved back to the Doctor. "I had to break him. A broken man is almost as good as a dead one."

"When did you get creative?" asked the Doctor, and Donna thought she heard legitimate curiosity somewhere beneath the fury and disgust. "The Soldier I knew only drew the shortest line between two points. You would have just buried Jack in cement and left him alone. You were brutal, but you've never been cruel."

"I'm glad you asked." The voice was not Ianto's, nor was it the Soldier's. It was cool, smooth like melted chocolate, but when he spoke, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. "I learned to be creative from watching you, Doctor."

"Me…" the Doctor croaked. Donna shot a nervous look at him.

"Oh, yes," said Ianto sincerely. "You were my soul inspiration. The sheer…_artistry _with which you stole lives and liberties, it's _beautiful. _From you, I learned to really enjoy my work. All from you.

"Oh," he added, "and don't call me 'Soldier'. I am so much more than a soldier. I own this planet. Call me Master."

The Doctor's eyes glistened, but no tears escaped. "Ian-_Master, _Stop. Leave this planet. Come with me. We're the only ones left now, but you don't have to be alone."

Ianto shook his head. "Oh no, I'll be staying right here. And you won't be sticking around." From inside his jacket, he produced a small sleek silver tube. "_Laser _screwdriver," he said, rolling it delicately between his fingertips. "Goodbye, old friend." He pressed the tip to the Doctor's forehead.

_**BANG!**_


	18. Repairs

**Repairs**

**Owning nothing. All reviews appersheated. **

Ianto's eyes widened and his jaw dropped a little. The entire room fell completely still and silent as he looked down at his chest, at the crimson stain blooming across the front of his pressed white shirt. The Doctor threw out his arms to catch Ianto as his knees buckled, and he lowered him to the floor. The Doctor raised his head. River Song stood before a rectangle of distorted space, through which was visible a sliver of the TARDIS' control room. She held a smoking, old-fashioned gun in her hand, with a distinct, long narrow barrel.

Her eyes met his with no trace of apology or regret, only cold determination. And it scared him.

The Doctor looked down at Ianto's pale face, and back up at River. "What have you done?"

River holstered the gun. She matched the Doctor's stare, the one which cowed the mightiest of rulers, and the closest of his friends, and she did not flinch. "I saved your life."

The Doctor, it seemed, could not reply to this. He cupped Ianto's chin in his hand. "Hey. Hey, you're just fine. You just need to regenerate." Nothing happened. "Regenerate!" he ordered.

Ianto smiled weakly. "Look what you've created, Doctor." A trickle of blood slid from the corner of his mouth.. "_Aren't you proud?_" His head rolled to the side.

"No! NO!" wailed the Doctor. "Regenerate! _You can't die!_" Only now did the tears come. Only now did Jack step forward. "Get him back into the TARDIS!" he said, with something more resembling his general authoritative manner, though still shaky. "You can heal him!"

Like a man desperately clinging to the very last frayed strands of his rope, the Doctor helped Jack heave Ianto through the TARDIS door, leaving the others in the conference room, and together they laid his inert form on the metal grating next to the control panel.

"Come on… Come on, FIX HIM!" The Doctor screamed at the TARDIS. He kicked her coral pillar. "Fix him, you stupid bloody machine!"

"Doctor…"

Jack was staring at Ianto's body. A soft golden light had begun to collect above his face. It gathered and concentrated, growing brighter, until it floated in a single iridescent cloud above their heads and into the central column of the TARDIS.

A harsh, rhythmic groaning started up, but the longer it continued, the smoother it sounded, and became more like the purring engine of a luxury car.

"She's repairing the paradox," said River, running a gentle hand over a panel. "She's fixing everything."

Jack looked up from where he knelt over Ianto. "But what about-"

River cut him off with a head shake and a knowing smile. "This year never happened, which means he never went back and killed them in the first place. They'll remember nothing."

"Jack?"

Jack dropped his head, and shifted Ianto's body so he was resting against Jack's thighs. "Jack, what's happening?"

"It's you," Jack whispered. He pressed a hand to Ianto's face.

Ianto's deep blue eyes traced the space around Jack's head. "Where are we?"

"In the TARDIS. It's gonna be okay. The Doctor's here."

Ianto took a deep breath, and winced as his lungs expanded. "Ah! Was I _shot?_"

"Yeah," Jack admitted. "But it's okay. You're gonna be fine, Ianto. I promise."

A shudder wracked Ianto's body and Jack held him tighter. His eyes open wide with sheer, utter horror. "Oh my God," he croaked. Tears pooled in his eyes. "What have I done? _What have I done!_"

"Shh, it's alright," said Jack, wiping the tear away with a shaking hand. "It wasn't you. You did nothing."

"I…your daughter. Your grandson. Oh God, Jack, I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," said Jack in a brave attempt at comforting firmness. "Ianto, listen to me. It _wasn't you._ Do you hear me?"

He could see more memories flashing behind Ianto's blue - _beautiful _- eyes, and at the same time, see them growing dimmer.

"Ianto," he said. "Hey, stay with me. _Please!_" his voice became a harsh cry, roughened by desperation. "_Ianto!"_

The Doctor looked away from the two of them, feeling very much an intruder. Gently, he touched River's wrist, pulled her away to the other side of the console. She avoided his piercing, accusing gaze this time, as she spun dials and pressed buttons with deft, practiced movements.

"We best get the captain back where he belongs."

A harsh gasp drew their eyes the same way a car crash does. Magnetic, to the point where you stare, no matter how much you want to look away.

Jack was bent over Ianto's limp body. His shoulders quaked nearly imperceptibly. The Doctor knew he would never let them see him break, so he stayed where he was, allowing Jack his privacy.

He pressed a square blue button and the familiar rhythmic wheeze started up. Gently vibrations rippled through the floor, sending some small insubstantial amount of comfort through the Doctor's two hearts. The sound had become as much a home as anything to him. He took refuge in the sound, closed his eyes and let it transport him far away, to drown out the Master's voice: _while our home burned beneath you, while our people died._

They ground to a stop.

"Where…?" Jack's whisper was impossibly old and weary. His voice shook with the tremor of an elderly veteran, a sad, aged man who had witnessed the end of the world. The Doctor knew because he, too, sounded like that.

"Cardiff," River answered. "The Torchwood Institute. September seventeenth, two-thousand seven." She walked around the console to stand near Jack. "Your friends are safe. For them, this year never happened."

Jack didn't look up.

As though reading his mind, River said, "Ianto never existed. He was never supposed to. The universe has righted itself." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

Jack lowered Ianto's head gently off his lap onto the grating, and stood up. "It's for the best," he said without conviction. "They shouldn't remember."

"But you will." Jack met the Doctor's hard, sharp eyes.

"I guess we're in the same boat now, then." Jack attempted a smile. "I'll be seeing you, Doctor."

"You could come with me," said the Doctor softly, but Jack shook his head.

"I've just seen my family and my planet nearly destroyed by the man I love. I need to know they're okay."

There was no long goodbye, no more apologies, no mentions of sins past. Jack walked down the ramp of the TARDIS with sagging shoulders and a shuffling gait, as though each step caused him extreme pain. At the door, he turned back, and a bit of his old roguish glint could just barely be seen. "Doctor, this not dying thing…you can't fix it?"

The Doctor shook his head.

"So, I'll live forever, but I'll still age? Grey hair and everything?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

Jack chuckled. "Sorry, vanity. I did model as a kid, you know. The Face of Boe, they used to call me." Immersed in memories, he exited out the door and was gone.

The Doctor's jaw hung loose. "No," he muttered. "_No way._ He's not…" he gave a shocked laugh. "He _can't _be!"

"Well, Doctor," said River, interrupting his disbelieving revelation, "this has been fun. Let's do it again some time." She made for the door.

"Hold on just a minute, Dr. Song." The Doctor caught up to her as she reached the damp grey pavement, grabbed her arm, uncomfortably firm . "You've got some questions to answer."

Rive smiled patronizingly. She knew what he was going to say, had known he would since she'd first planned to kill Ianto, but still she tried to deflect the words she knew was coming. "You can't ask me about the future, sweetie. It's against the rules."

"Whose rules?"

"…Yours."

"Then answer me this." The dark eyes flashed dangerously, and River caught a glimpse of the warrior, the man he would become. For just one second, he was exactly her Doctor. But her flame of joy was snuffed out by the Doctor's next words.

"You murdered him. You murdered the only other of my kind left in the universe. Why?"

It wasn't the anger which broke River's heart. It was the anguish she saw underneath, the knowledge that she had hurt the Doctor, possibly beyond repair. And the knowledge that he would not forgive her for 100 years, not until he became the man who had answered her call and come to her in Stormcage.

River gestured around them. A number of people milled around the courtyard and the surrounding streets. Cars whisked by. Birds chirped. "Everyone here is alive. Isn't that enough?"

"You _murdered _him. The very last of my people."

River sighed. She knew what she was going to say would come very close to breaking the Doctor's rules. He would probably be furious. She said it anyways.

"He was going to kill you, Doctor. And if you die now…none of our life together would have happened. And I can't lose that."

"_What do you mean?_" The Doctor tightened his grip, but not so much that it hurt. "What life together? _Who are you?_"

River gestured helplessly. "You know me! We just saved the world together."

"But why?" asked the Doctor. "Why did you come? What are you to me, in the future?"

Sadness filled River's eyes. The Doctor could see the truth bursting at the seams, but knew it would never make it to her mouth. She tugged her arm gently out of his grasp and clasped his hands gently in hers. "You'll find out in due time, my love." She smiled. "And what an adventure it will be." She stepped away.

"No, _River. _You told me my name. Why would I have told you? _Answer me!_" River touched hand on her elbow, savoring the feel of his skin on hers, and gently pulled it away. "Spoilers."

The Doctor opened his mouth, but was cut off by the rhythmic grinding of the TARDIS engines. A blue phone box had appeared several meters away, a distinctly brighter blue and now with a circular seal on the panel adjacent to the "Pull to Open" sign.

The door swung inwards and the Doctor saw a sliver of the interior. The appliances all seemed more bulbous and colorful.

"Is that…?" he began.

"That's my ride." River stood on her toes and kissed the Doctor on the cheek. "Goodbye, Doctor. Until next time." She walked through the TARDIS door, and for just a moment, the Doctor thought he caught a glimpse of a man wearing grey boots and a tweed jacket and-was that a bowtie? He prayed he wouldn't ever wear a bowtie.

"River!" he shouted desperately one last time. "Who are you!"

"Spoilers!" was the last thing he heard before the TARDIS vanished from sight.

"Doctor!" Martha Jones was jogging across the pavement, having just closed the door of the darker, more battered TARDIS. As she reached him, she asked, "Who was that?"

"No one."

Martha raised her eyebrows skeptically, but shrugged and dropped the subject. "So, are we going to go scold Torchwood?"

The Doctor shook his head. "We don't need to worry about them."

"But you said-"

The silence was suddenly rent by an ear-splitting screech and they both looked up to see a pterodactyl swopping overhead, shrieking.

"Except for that, of course."

"Myfanwy!" A young man in jeans and a black leather jacket was sprinting across the pavement, a gun clenched in one hand. "Damn it, blasted thing!" A few feet from them he stopped, raised the gun and fired a single shot at the pterodactyl. It gave a squawk and fluttered limply to the ground.

"Owen?"

Beside the silver building they saw a petite Asian woman with straight black hair, shading her eyes from the pale sun.

"It's fine," the man called. He scooped up the pterodactyl and carried it back toward the building.

"Come on," said the Doctor with a brave attempt at his usual manic grin. "I know a library that takes up an entire planet!" He took Martha's hand and dragged her back to the TARDIS.

He found himself, however, on a collision course with a little, dark haired boy, who barreled straight into the Doctor's legs and promptly toppled over onto his backside with an "_Oof!"_

Already the horrible recognition was blooming when an exasperated voice said, "Daniel! I told you to _walk!_ I'm so sorry, sir," said Juliette Rêve. She looked incredibly different in jeans and a sweatshirt, with her caramel hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, than in the black combat fatigues, but still just as lovely.

The Doctor hitched a smile onto his face before Martha caught him staring. "No harm done." He backed up a step. "You have a nice day."


	19. Carrying On

**I was planning to torture you all a good deal longer, but I just can't stand it. Everyone thinks the story is over and it's NOT! It will be at the end of this chapter though. (Except there will be one more chapter for my saintfully patient Mr. You-Know-Who-You-Are, but you don't have to read that, and then perhaps another for any Superwhovians, because I reeeeeally want to put Castiel in here. So this is the end.)**

**Carrying On**

Jack Harkness was no stranger to pain - an occupational hazard of being unkillable. Nor was he unfamiliar with loss. He was over 200 years old, after all. He had outlived a great number of both friends and lovers. But being accustomed to something and being immune to it are two incredibly different things, and the regularity of his loss was doing nothing to soften the impossibly sharp knife which seemed to have permanently lodged itself into his heart. Everything he looked at in the Hub carried some memory of Ianto. They came alive as he looked at them, until a different Iantos stood all around jack, paying him no mind in the slightest. But it wasn't just the Hub. Torchwood had run all over the godforsaken city. Every street lamp, it seemed, was obligated to project Ianto's formally clad, irresistible body, casting shadows under his round chin, making his face darker, more rugged. Every green lawn lay underfoot as Ianto sprinted across it in the dark, chasing after the galloping figure of a Weevil. Every cup of coffee was wrapped in Ianto's smooth pale hand.

But none of those were the worst, not by a long shot. No, on any scale, what was worse was the fact that Jack's memories were it. As River Song had promised, Ianto never existed. There were no records of him, no photographs. His team mates had no idea who he was. Jack was alone.

Only one real thing in Jack's life remained of Ianto Jones, one collection of random atoms bonded together to acknowledge his existence…

Jack locked the door to his office, wishing he had curtains, or proper walls. Something to hide him from the concerned stares of his teammates. He collapsed into his chair, and his eyes fell upon a white envelope resting atop his desk, with only one word written on it: _Jack._

Jack slit the envelope open and out slid a piece of paper covered in neat, looping handwriting.

_Jack-_

_I know that right now you feel alone and angry. You have every right to. In keeping with my far too oft repeated refrain, I'm sorry. I am so very sorry, for everything. I wish that I could tell you that the pain goes away, that everything will eventually go back to normal, but that would be a lie. The truth is that the holes Ianto has torn in your life will never be properly filled. I beg you not to try to fill them with revenge._

_Jack, there is no revenge to be had. No one is at fault except me. None of this would have happened had I recognized the Master sooner, and for that I am truly sorry. I pray that you will learn from my mistakes, and use your suffering to raise yourself higher. You will live for a long, long time. Billions of years. That time will be ten times as long if you let yourself become bitter and filled with hate._

_The only small consolation I can offer you is something a very old, very wise man once told me: a man who has no conscience, no goodness, does not suffer. Jack, I cannot lessen your suffering - no one can do that but you. But I want you to remember this. Jack Harkness, you are, and always will be, a good man. And you've got plenty of time to do some good in this universe.  
Prove me right._

There was no signature.

Jack was about to crumple up the envelope and toss it away when he realized there was another, stiffer piece of paper tucked into the corner. He pulled it out and felt his heart lodge in his throat. How the Doctor had done it, Jack had no idea, but he held in his hand a glossy photograph of a young man with short brown hair, a round face, and stormy grey eyes, grinning while pumping the lever on a silver and black coffee-maker. Leave it to the Doctor to have a photo of a man who didn't exist.

Jack slid the picture back into the envelope, and dropped it into his top desk drawer. Then he picked it up again and slipped it into his inside pocket. A second later, he took the picture out of the envelope and laid it face down on the desk. Then face up. Then back in his pocket, next to the letter, and that was where it stayed.

Jack was sometimes prone to taking out the letter, unfolding it as though to read it again, before refolding it and shoving back into the pocket without looking at it. It seemed that it was only now the true gravity of what he was had taken hold. That he would exist forever, be here, around mortals, forever. This sort of thing would happen again, the Doctor had as good as told him. It was his choice whether he let it change him into a monster, or something else entirely. Perhaps this time Jack wouldn't screw up quite so badly.

The others were courteous enough to leave him alone. They didn't understand why he was behaving so oddly, but they didn't ask, for which he was grateful. Every time he looked at them, he still saw their broken, scared faces as they'd watched the man Ianto had become destroy their planet. He wished he could comfort them. But he knew they didn't need comforting, because for them, it had never happened.

One night in November it all became too much. Jack strode out of the Hub without a word and drove. He drove and drove all night, losing track of time, not caring where he ended up.

He parked the SUV at dawn, on some street in some city, and stepped out, taking consolation in the fact that he recognized nothing. Ianto couldn't follow him hear.

"Damn it!" There was a shout and the unmistakable bang of a gun shot. Jack ran towards the source of the noise, his hand closing around his own gun. His ears led him to the stairwell leading down to a subway. He sprinted down the steps, and found himself face to face with a Weevil. He brought up his gun but- _BANG! _

"What the hell was that thing?" demanded an angry voice. Jack raised his eyes from the dead Weevil at his feet to the young man standing a few paces away, with his gun still raised. _Oh Jesus. _

"Ianto?"

The man frowned, clicked the safety back on his gun, and slipped it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He frowned at Jack. "Sorry, mate. You best get out of here." The man who wasn't Ianto reached down and grabbed the Weevil's right wrist, making to drag it away. Jack moved and grab its left.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he said as he helped Not Ianto drag the Weevil to a maintenance closet and lock it inside.

"Lloyd," said the man. "Gareth Lloyd."

"So, Lloyd Gareth Lloyd," said Jack, wiping his hands on his pants. "Can I buy ya a drink?"

**oOo**

River was quiet during the flight back to Stormcage. She curled up on the jump seat and let the Doctor fly, which of course immediately alerted him to the facy that something was wrong. He plopped down on the seat beside her.

He didn't need to say anything. "You hate me," River said. It was the most vulnerable he had ever heard her sound.

"I don't," he assured her. He wrapped her hand in his bigger one, and squeezed it comfortingly. "Not even then. I think I do, but trust me, I don't. When you next see me, everything will be fine." He kissed her on the head. "I promise."

The TARDIS ground to a stop. Looking outside, River said in surprise, "This isn't Stormcage."

"No," the Doctor agreed. " Of course not! We're going somewhere entirely much more exciting. There's just one stop to make first." He opened the door onto a rural street River didn't recognize.

She did, however, recognize the man standing in the middle of it. He looked so small, almost diminutive now, standing with slumped shoulders in the drenching rain. His soaked hair seemed to be wilting, and when she got a glimpse of his face, she felt her heart nearly break. Quickly, her Doctor explained what she needed to do, and that this version of him was a year older than the one she had left in Cardiff a few minutes ago.

She splashed toward him. "Doctor!" she called.

He turned to look at her with those empty, anguished eyes. "River," he said in a monotone. "What are you doing here."

"There's something I forgot to tell you," said River, shielding her eyes from the downpour. "When the paradox broke, the universe sort of…shook itself up. Some things got replaced, or moved. Justin Bieber was never supposed to be in this reality, for one thing." She nodded toward his TARDIS, for the one which had brought her was invisible. "I need to show you something."

They landed in a small, snowy courtyard surrounded by inexpensive looking apartments. incredibly familiar inexpensive apartments.

"What are you doing?" asked the Doctor.

Before River could answer, there was the sound of slow, scuffing footsteps, and a young woman bundled up in a coat, scarf, and hot pink hat trudged into view, clutching her shoulders and shivering. She looked up as she passed them, brushing a strand of dirty blonde hair from her eyes. When she caught sight of the Doctor, she smiled in recognition. His hearts skipped a beat, so fixated on the woman he hadn't even noticed River discreetly disappear.

"Hey," she said, "I know you."

"Oh, yeah?" he said, not sure what to do.

"Don't you remember?" said Rose Tyler. "New Year's Eve. Coupla weeks ago."

He was so entranced by that bright smile he barely registered the words. New Year's Eve. He hadn't been here on New Year's Eve. Not yet anyways. But if Rose was still here, then…

"What year is it?" he asked.

She laughed. "You been out drinking again?"

He shrugged in a noncommittal way, not sure what she was talking about.

"It's 2005," she said. "February twelfth."

"Two-thousand five," he repeated, more to himself than to her. His memory was flooded with deformed mannequins marching the streets of London, of Christmas Day, Jackie hanging mistle-toe. "You know what?" he said.

Rose cocked her head to the side. "What?"

The Doctor felt a pained, yet completely sincere grin spread over his face. "I bet you're gonna have a really great year."

Rose narrowed her eyes in a playfully suspicious manner. "Do you know something, mate? You said that last time, too."

"Well, it must be true then." The Doctor took a deep breath, the smile fading from his face. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see you." Rose continued her way up the metal steps to her apartment, and for a moment, the Doctor wanted nothing more than to follow her. To sprint up the stairs and wrap her in a gigantic bear hug and never ever let go. But…

"Sweetie?" River was leaning against the invisible doorway of the TARDIS. "It's time. Allons-y." Her voice was gentle, not at all flirtatious or suggestive. Just kind, pure and simple. Perhaps he _could_ understand what his future self saw in her.

She left him back on Donna's street and disappeared around the corner, to where her Doctor's TARDIS was waiting. The Doctor himself stood at the control panel, smiling expectantly.

River returned the smile and shook her head. "You hypocrite. Messing with timelines."

"I'm a Time Lord," said the Doctor, straightening his bowtie in a self-satisfied fashion. "I get to do that sometimes. But before we go, there's something you absolutely must see! Or rather, hear. Listen."

River listened. Through the doors, in the distance, she could hear a melodic chanting which reverberated inside her ears, sending shivers down her spine. "It's beautiful."

"They're towers," said the Doctor. "Towers perfectly constructed to sing when the wind blows just right. Singing towers. Come on, Dr. Song. You look like you could do with some cheering up."

**oOo**

_On the way to the Library, Martha received a call that her brother's wife had had her baby, and that they wanted her to be godmother. Instantly, Martha ordered the Doctor to turn around and take her home._

_"Have fun," he said when he dropped her off on her street. "I'll just be around. There's this thing going on, at Adipose industries. Thought I might check it out. Give me a ring when you're done."_

_And there, of course, appeared none other than Donna Noble. For a moment, the Doctor couldn't look at her without seeing the woman standing in the conference room, her face hard with fury, holding a gun. But the image melted as Donna beamed and mouthed through the glass, "This is **brilliant!**" _

_**And…**_

The first astronaut lumbered forward, its breathing magnified tenfold by the suit's respiratory unit. A gloved hand reached up to remove the reflective visor.

"Hello, sweetie."

The Doctor could not stop a smile from spreading across his face. Of all the bloody people the universe could have sent him…

"Hello, River."

**And this concludes "The Fob Watch". Enormous thanks to everyone who has supported me and read this story. It has been a most exciting journey. Have a nice life.**


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